Victims of War
by Jedi's Pal
Summary: Two young people with absolutely nothing in common, yet they were joined together forever by death. They were all victims of war... The dark tale of how the lives of two families tragically intersected just before the Belfast Accords were signed during "The Troubles" in Ireland and of a time when Fiona Glenanne learned the true meaning of Dioltas. Now Complete.
1. A Fear Searbh

_**Disclaimer: Unfortunately we do not own Burn Notice; we're just borrowing these wonderful characters.  
**_

**A/N: **_We are Purdy's Pal and Jedi Skysinger and, if you're here reading this, we thank you for your interest and promise the chapters will get much longer with each successive offering. This is the story of a hardcore Irish Republican family realistically portrayed against the backdrop of Northern Ireland in the mid-90's, using Purdy's Pal's exquisite knowledge of all things Irish during the Troubles and all the hints and threads woven throughout the show. Though much of Fiona's dark past was glossed over in BN, we have tried to make this as true to Irish history, as well as BN canon, as we can._

_A special thanks goes out to our wonderful friends: Amanda Hawthorn, who has read thru, found time for BETA's and gave us a wonderful plug in her brilliant story, __Paying the Consequences__, and Daisy Day, who keeps us laughing every Sunday. Much love to all the Burner girls on FB and Twitter who are keeping the faith. Sadly, Burn Notice the TV show may be ending soon, but there's nothing stopping Burn Notice fan fiction from carrying on as long as we want it to!_

_Thank you all for your support!_

******VICTIMS of WAR**

**_A Fear Searbh_**

**Miami, July 2012**

Sitting in his sparsely decorated office in the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland's temporary consulate in Miami, MI6 operative Arthur Meyers pulled out a faded and worn beige-colored folder from his brown leather briefcase. Placing the aged thick cardboard folder on top of his desk, he stared at it with reverence as one hand gently brushed over the greasy creased surface.

The tattered, yet precious, object held together the pages of his life. It held the reasons behind his quitting a degree course in politics during his final year at Oxford University. It explained why, even though his parents had begged and pleaded with him not to go, he had insisted on joining the army and it held all his excuses for every single thing he had done since leaving home: three tours of duty in Northern Ireland, a peacekeeping posting in Bosnia and six months in Iraq, followed by five years in the SAS before being recruited into MI6.

With a shuddering sigh, he closed his eyes and slowly drew back the cover. Running the tip of his tongue over suddenly dry lips, he opened his eyes and stared at the first page. Two photographs lay side by side, one was of a young man twenty five years old wearing his dress uniform. The photograph had been taken on Boxing Day, the 26th of December 1995, just hours before he had left home to start his second tour of duty in Northern Ireland. The other photograph was of a young woman with reddish blond hair framing a delicately featured face. It had been taken on the 3rd of January 1996 by a CCTV camera covering Chichester Street in the center of Belfast.

Arthur Meyers's long slender fingers skimmed over both pictures, two young people with absolutely nothing in common and yet they were joined together forever by death.

Pursing his lips, his expression hardened. _At least her family had a body to bury, a gravestone to visit and, most importantly, they had been given closure._

Her death had been a dreadful waste of a young life, an awful mistake, a terrible accident caused by a mixture of fear and mindless violence. Her death had been a catalyst, a spark which ignited a fire which nearly burned down an entire city.

Meyers took a moment to calm his breathing. Turning the page, he closed his eyes preparing himself for the multitude of reports and statements which tried to give meaning to what had occurred in the first weeks of 1996. He knew every single word printed on each and every page by heart. Yet those words still held the power to tear him apart. Blinking, he cleared his vision and began to read.

Her name had been Claire Bridgitte Glenanne. She had been twenty one years old and she had been out shopping, picking up bargains in the January sales. Two large plastic carrier bags had been found at her side; one had held two silk blouses, the other contained a blue dress and a light green woolen sweater.

She had been walking past House of Frasers department store on Chichester Street in the center of Belfast when a passing army patrol had come under attack from a group of youths throwing bricks and stones. Within minutes, the street was in chaos and that was when a seventeen year old private on his very first patrol since arriving in Belfast lost his nerve and opened fire on the hostile crowd.

Claire Glenanne had bled to death on that Belfast street without even a comforting presence at her side. All because of the actions of the crowd who started to riot. It had been all the eight man patrol could do to hold back the angry mob while they waited for an ambulance and back up from the nearby barracks to arrive.

The news of the shooting had traveled like wildfire and, when it was discovered who had died, it had instigated a week of bloody violence on the streets of West Belfast. On the day of her funeral, six days after her death, crowds of mourners filled the streets, bringing the city to a stand still.

Meanwhile the army, the Ulster police and the British government all braced themselves for the bloody retaliation they were sure was to follow.

In life, Claire Bridgitte Glenanne had been no ordinary girl. She came from a family of hardcore Republicans and even though she had never been in trouble with the law herself, nearly every one of her surviving older siblings had been arrested and faced criminal charges at one time or another, most of them more than once.

Meyers forced himself to read through the coroner's report which detailed the damage done to Ms. Glenanne's body by the stray bullet, the witness statements of the troopers involved telling how they had valiantly held back a mob baying for their blood and the military police reports of the officers who had examined the scene and taken charge of all the CCTV footage of the area. Each and every document exonerated the soldiers from blame. Ms. Glenanne died because she bled to death before the paramedics could reach her.

Next, Meyers turned his attention to the Glenanne family, laying out surveillance photographs taken at the funeral of each of the five remaining siblings.

Liam Glenanne was deemed a dangerous sociopath by an army psychologist who'd had the pleasure of interviewing the man during one of his stays in Long Kesh gaol. Back in 1996, he had already been suspected of being responsible for at least fifteen murders in Northern and Southern Ireland, the UK and further a field in France and Spain.

Seamus, an international gunrunner, was on the travel watch list of Interpol and the UK Coastguard.

Colin had only ever been arrested once in 1986. His crime was hacking the Ulster Constabulary computers. He was handed a paltry sentence of sixty days in prison for the offense.

Sean was a brawler, a street-fighter, who had been charged twice for actual bodily harm, once for grievous bodily harm and twice for intimidating witnesses. But for all that, he had never served a single day in prison.

Lastly, there was the only other girl, Fiona, who just like her little sister had at that time no criminal record, though she was known to Interpol because of a long term association with a French merchant of war, Armand Andreani.

Of course,_ now_ Ms. Fiona Glenanne sat inside a federal prison cell facing charges of multiple murders and hopefully in the near future he would get the pleasure of watching her expression as she was handed a death sentence.

Meyers stared at each face in turn, their features burned into his memory. One or more of these _people _were responsible for destroying his hopes, dreams, and possibly his soul. Because while _they _got to bury their sister, to grieve at her graveside, to have the peace of knowing what happened to her and where her body was laid to rest...

_His _family had been left with nothing.

Arthur Henry Meyers let the ice cold hatred build until it filled his mind and flowed through his veins. Then, with fingers which shook with a powerful need to hurt somebody, he neatly returned the papers to their place in the file before turning his attention to the details of the other victim.

Captain George Neville Meyers... His only sibling, his big brother, his hero, the man he had most wanted to emulate.

He took hold of a photograph, his expression softening as he stared at the faces of two boys. It was a picture of George and himself at a family wedding. They were dressed in matching grey morning suits with similar hair styles and the same slightly bored expressions. Everybody said how much alike they looked and that, if he had been a little taller and a little broader in the shoulder, they could've been twins.

Arthur Meyers turned the photo over, not wanting to look at it any more. It was bad enough that whenever he looked in the mirror he saw his brother's face staring back at him.

Captain Meyers had only been officially declared dead six years ago, even though he had been missing for the previous ten years. He had been the officer in charge of the patrol which had come under attack from a mob of over thirty howling, jeering men, women and youths. He had been an honorable man and a decorated infantry officer, who had been doing his job to the very best of his ability, when in a moment of panic one of his men made a terrible mistake and a woman had died.

Because of the high profile of the family involved, the coroner's office had acted swiftly and, in a closed hearing, the patrol had quickly been found innocent of all charges. The ruling stated that the eight man patrol, when faced by overwhelming odds had, in the eyes of the law, done the best they could in difficult circumstances and only acted in self defense.

However, the soldier who had fired the fatal shot had been sent home to Norwich, in Norfolk England, on extended medical leave with orders not to talk to anybody about what happened, while the rest of the troop were to be shipped back to their barracks in Kent as soon as a replacement troop could be deployed.

Swallowing thickly, Meyers pushed down the feeling of nausea that always rose whenever he thought about that dreadful time after his brother's disappearance.

He remembered sitting in his parents living room, listening to his brother's commanding officer explain that George had disobeyed an order to stay on the base. He had last been seen alive on the 24th of January walking along a busy Belfast street.

General Hersham had gone on to say that the whole battalion had been turned out and they had torn Belfast apart searching for their missing officer. They had dragged in every known member of the IRA they could find and subjected them all to hours of questioning. They had even sent SAS teams into Southern Ireland to extract the Glenannes. But the whole family had gone into hiding, with the exception of the head of the family who had already been taken into custody well prior to the raids.

The General had repeatedly said how he was dreadfully sorry, but as there had been no ransom demand, George was most likely already dead, killed by either Liam or Sean Glenanne or by somebody else acting on their orders. But regrettably as there was no body, no evidence and, as not one of the three hundred people brought in for questioning could be made to talk about the Glenannes, nothing more could be done.

At twenty two years of age, he had been a callow youth. Brought up in a world of class and privilege, the second son of an old and wealthy family, his life up to that moment in time had been laid out in an orderly fashion before him. He had attended the best schools money could buy, gone on to study at Oxford University. He'd had expectations of a career in the city, of marriage to a suitable girl from another wealthy family and in time children would follow. Later on in life there would be a directorship in one of the banks or other financial institutions.

But, in the course of a few hours, his life changed forever. It was ironic really. He could trace his ancestors back to the Norman conquest to the very ship that had brought his earliest relative to the British shores, yet he would never know what had become of his older brother or where his bones were laid to rest.

Stuck in the south east of England, there had been little he could do other than try to manage his grief as best he could while his world fell apart around him. He had contacted his tutor to explain he would not be returning for his final semester due to family problems and then spent his days brooding in his bedroom.

Meanwhile, his beautiful, if rather fragile, mother had taken to drowning her own sorrow in champagne and wild society parties and his father had retreated into the countryside to take his anger out on the local wildlife during the various hunting seasons.

But the disappearance of his brother had not been the end of it.

For on the 8th of February, seventeen year old Private Keith Crammer was out with his friends in Norwich City when he suddenly dropped to the ground as a high calibre bullet shattered his skull.

The death of an off-duty soldier killed by a sniper should have provoked a mass of media attention lasting for days, if not weeks. But the following day, just after 7 pm, a large bomb containing 500kg of explosives ripped apart Canary Wharf in London's Docklands, marking the end of the IRA ceasefire and giving the police and MI5 something far more important to investigate than the disappearance of an army captain and the death of a young man who had made a stupid mistake.

Meyers couldn't look at the file any longer. He placed everything back into the folder and closed the well worn cover. Canary Wharf had been followed by ten more bombings in the capital, though none of them as big or as destructive as the first. Then came the Manchester bombing, decimating a large part of the northern city. Everybody wanted the ceasefire reinstated, sacrifices had to be made for the bigger picture.

The phone sitting on his desk rang and Meyers sat up straight and touched his fingers to his regimental tie as he quickly composed himself. Lifting the hand set, he raised it to his ear.

"Meyers," he answered in the crisp, slightly bored drawl of an English aristocrat.

"_It's been agreed. You can have your time with Glenanne... I'll be sending two men from the State Department to escort you out to Allarod._"

Meyers smiled, his anger and hatred locked away behind a thin veneer of civility and good manners.

"Thank you. I won't forget this."

Placing the handset back on it's base, Meyers laid one hand on top of the folder, his long elegant fingers tapped a beat on the well worn cover of the file that held all the details of the tragedy that had ruined his life._ They were all victims of war in a sense, but that didn't change the burning hatred he felt._

"And I'll make _damn sure_ she won't forget it either."


	2. Rivalry deartháir nó deirfiúr

_**Disclaimer: Unfortunately we still do not own Burn Notice; we're just borrowing these wonderful characters.  
**_

**A/N:** We want to say_** a huge thank you**_ to everyone for reading and reviewing Chapter 1. We really appreciate all the positive response to our first joint venture. Again, this is a dark and tragic tale realistically told, so you have been warned. The translations for the chapter titles appear at the end. A special thanks to Amanda Hawthorn for lending her enthusiasm and BETA skills to this effort. As always, much love to all the Burner girls on FB, Twitter and the PCC! You rock!

_Thanks again for all your support!_

()()()

**VICTIMS of WAR**

**_R__ivalry deartháir nó deirfiúr_**

_**Belfast, January 1996**_

"Jay-sus, Sean, are ya tryin' ta freeze me? Turn up the damned heater!"

"Quit yar bitchin' Fi," her brother reprimanded loudly and then his voice dropped. "Ya knew we'd have ta take this old beast when we got tha call."

Fiona huffed and looked out the window at the snow covered Irish countryside and tried once again to ignore the chatter coming from the back seat of the ancient Series 2 Land Rover. Her younger sister Claire was busy catching up their brother Colin on all her activities at university back in Dublin, while the older man smiled and nodded indulgently like a doting uncle instead of a sibling.

She knew she shouldn't be put out with Claire, but she was. As soon as the youngest Glenanne girl had discovered that Sean and Fiona would be accompanying Colin in his perennial pilgrimage between their current home in Dublin and their old home in Belfast, she had insisted that she be allowed to come along. Fiona knew that their elder brother would be upset with them for bringing her, but she also knew that Claire missed Liam, the closest thing she'd had to a father most of her young life. Their Da had been taken when Claire was six and she really hadn't known Patrick Senior like the older girl had.

She chuckled to herself, her sour mood lifting momentarily as she thought about the number of times she had followed her father into his basement workshop without her mother's knowledge. Though the matriarch of the Glenanne clan loved her daughters with her whole heart, Maeve was happy to lavish attention on needy Claire and leave tomboy Fiona to her own devices. Her mammy never did find out about the "chemistry" lessons her husband had conduct with "Da's girl" until much later in life.

His little sister noticed Sean was looking at her sideways now without truly taking his eyes off the road as it meandered towards Belfast, sensing her mood change before he saw it. The man behind the wheel had been in sync with Fiona so often that sometimes it was scary, but it had saved operations and their lives on more than one occasion. But it was what they had done for the Cause together, despite her brother's initial opposition to her enlistment, that had drawn them closer. Sean had once been the bane of her existence. Now that they were comrades in arms as well as siblings, he was her best friend.

"I'm fancying a pint when we git thar," Sean announced, a smirk gracing his features as he now looked in the rear view mirror at Colin. He already knew what both his sisters would say.

She smacked her brother on his nearest shoulder and tried to stifle her annoyance as Claire proceeded to change their plans for the evening. Fiona didn't _really_ resent the way the youngest girl had their family, especially both their mam and Liam, wrapped around her little finger... well, not much, anyway. The older girl had been happy her mother had found something to restore her joy after the long period of mourning she'd had for the little girl she had lost just after Fiona's second birthday.

The miscarriage had cast a pall over the entire family and they were all as thrilled as Maeve was to have a baby girl to coddle and spoil. Their other sister was too independent for that, or least she portrayed herself that way on the surface. _She'd_ learned young in a house full of older boys to defend herself, but with the sickly fragile infant that Claire had been, it had been different story for all of them.

Fiona sighed and tried to think kindly, sisterly thoughts towards her, but it was hard… well, harder now than it had been before. She had wanted to come home and rest, to put the things she had seen and done out of her mind, to try to be as guileless as her little sister was. It had worked for a time as she had immersed herself in mundane family life again, sharing the holidays with hoards of relatives.

But her attempt to realign herself with who she had been before she'd left home to live in the exhilarating and dangerous world of Armand Andreani had failed. That journey had changed her permanently and there was no going back. Ms. Glenanne sighed again, her warm breathe making a fog on the window as she stared out at the cold ground and denuded trees of the landscape in winter.

Life on the arm of a French aristocrat and international arms dealer had been exciting and glamorous. She had gone from being one of the few women admitted to the inner circle of the IRA to practically royalty in the shadow world of gun runners and power brokers and she had loved it… the clothes, the jewelry, the weapons, the opportunity, the influence, the adrenaline… and she thought herself in love with him as well. Raised in a world full of harsh realities, Fiona Glenanne believed herself capable of handling anything until the brutal truths of her chosen lifestyle had become impossible to ignore.

As she listened to the girl chatter away in the back of the aged 4x4, mere inches from the deadly cargo they were carrying concealed in the rear of the old Land Rover, she realized that she had been as naive … no, not naive… willfully ignorant… of what was going on in her life, with her lover…as Claire was about the world around her. Yet another sigh misted the glass as Fiona wondered if she had ever been as innocent as the younger girl. A small part of her knew she was jealous of her sister's blissful ignorance.

Learning that the IRA was planning to break the ceasefire with another bombing campaign had infuriated her. Hadn't there been enough killing in the last thirty years? Yes, she had every reason, as much as any, to hate the Orange bastards… Her Da, her eldest brother, her beloved home on the farm and her virtue had all been taken by Northern Irish loyalists and their English overlords. But what she had seen one morning in a small village in the Drina Valley had made her long for an end to violence.

"Have ya gathered enough wool ta finish makin' thot jumper now?" Sean's softly spoke question included a shove to her shoulder. His sister blinked and tried to cover up her unusual inattention.

Caught between trying to force down the memories that haunted her and tuning out Claire's chipper voice as the young woman outlined her bright future, Fiona was shocked to realize that the vehicle was idling outside the waist high wrought iron gate that barred their entrance into the semi-attached house surrounded by high, immaculately kept hedges that had been their childhood home for a brief time.

"Don't be too hard on tha girl, Sean," Colin grinned. "She's been swanning around Europe in har fancy clothes fer far too many a year an' she's forgotten wha' it's like ta be living amongst us commoners in tha real world."

She bit back the retort that was bubbling up on her lips as her relatives all had a chuckle at her expense and went to open the gate.

()()()

As she had predicted, Liam was very unhappy to find the baby of the family included in the things that appeared in the foyer of his home. As her other brothers had predicated, it had taken less than two minutes for Claire to wheedle her way into getting Liam to let her stay and coaxing a smile out of the normally stoic head of the family. As he returned her hug and placed a kiss on top of her red gold head, Fiona struggled to keep her uncharitable feelings at bay, finding herself once again envious of the younger girl's ability to get what she wanted out of everyone in the family with a grin and a giggle.

Fiona shrugged off her ill will and returned to her task, forcefully reminding herself that while those charms might work within the clan, Claire Glenanne would not stand a chance in this world without the reputation of her kinfolk to protect her. A bitter laugh snuck out, though there was no one to hear it since she was in the basement securing the stash of ordinance they had brought with them from Dublin.

The family name had not intimidated the UDF regular who had taken advantage of her inebriated state at her graduation party when she had stepped out back with the man of her college dreams for a bit a celebratory snogging. In fact, the Protestant boyfriend of one of her Catholic schoolmates at Queens College had targeted her precisely for who she was. If not for the intervention of her Auntie Claire, both she and her intended man would have paid the ultimate price for her tactical oversight. As it was, her brothers repaid the loyalist for the pain he'd inflicted upon her a thousand fold, or so she was told.

They had sent her party guests away with a story that she'd been too drunk to carry on and Fenton O'Connell, the man she'd had her eye on all throughout her education, went to hospital with a split skull and no memory of being hit nor what had happened to Fiona after at the hands of the loyalist scum.

"Have ya finished yet?" Liam called from the top of the stairs, snapping her out of her unpleasant reverie. She swore at herself under her breath for getting caught off guard again.

"Almost done," she assured him as she snapped the false panels back into place and began to reassemble the brick work. _Wha' the hell is wrong wit' me? I'd've been dead twice over now!_

"Ya shouldnae've let har come," he admonished lowly as the older man came alongside to help her complete the work.

"An' ya shouldnae've let har stay," she countered flatly, trying to keep her rising temper in check.

"I cannae send har home now; thar's no time."

"So ya say," Fiona groused, settling the last of the blocks in place. "Wha' will ya do wit' har then while we're at the meetin'?"

"I want _ya_ ta stay and watch over har while we're gone."

Fiona's ire flared in an instant. _She had run operations herself, both with Sean and for Armand, but he still expected her to stay behind and babysit Claire while the "menfolk" went off to conduct their business?!_

"I've earned me seat at the table, Liam," she growled. "Yer nae gonna cut me out like thot because ya cannae say no to har!"

Liam's blue gray eyes flashed. Even in the low light of the basement, she could see the anger burning there.

"_Ya know_ it's not safe ta go abou' here _by yarself_ ." His reference was plain and it stunned her. Liam _never_ brought _that_ up. He turned and walked away from her then as he considered the matter closed.

She stood listening to his retreating footsteps on the wooden staircase as it echoed through the cavernous, dark space while she clenched her fists and sucked in short breaths through her nose, trying to remind herself why she ever thought coming home would be a good idea in the first place.

()()()

Fiona managed to enjoy dinner in spite of herself. The walk to the pub was cold but bracing and the smoke-filled warmth of the glowing wooden interior soon buoyed her spirits. Being led to a well-known booth in the back, as well as the deference of everyone there to the appearance of most of the Glenanne clan in their midst, had mollified her foul mood. Feasting on familiar fare and frothy stouts had deliciously assuaged her bitterness and she found herself reveling in the company of her kinfolk.

This was what she'd been looking for when she had begged off her duties on the excuse of the family emergency and fled Armand's company. She had always had her own code of justice and loyalty, but she had over time come to realize that Armand's method of doing business was not always based on merit or profit. The less satisfied she had become with her work, the more her eyes were opened to the sort of man she was sharing her bed with. But he was a powerful man; no one crossed him and lived.

After the IRA had declared a ceasefire the August before last, she'd often found herself thinking of going back to Ireland and trying to help ensure a peaceful existence for her family and hoping that peace was actually achievable in her homeland and the Troubles would finally be at an end. However, it wasn't until she was back safely in Dublin that she'd let Armand know what her final decision was.

As the good-natured razzing flowed around her, between and during the courses, she thanked God that, for whatever the reason, Mr. Andreani regarded her with a deep affection and had allowed her to leave without repercussions to herself or his relationship with her family. His assurance that his door, most assuredly his bedroom door, was always open to her at any time had both relieved and frightened her.

So it was a proverbial slap in the face when her brothers all rose from the table and Liam's unflinching glare had let her know in no uncertain terms that she was to remain with her sister and put up a good front. As she watched their collective backs retreat up the virtually hidden staircase to her left with barely concealed fury, Fiona struggled to get her anger and resentment under control in time for the next round of visitors to approach the table. With the older men gone, a parade of women who'd been their friends and school mates came round to chat and reminisce with the youngest two of the Glenanne clan.

()()()

"Wha' da you think o' this one, Fi?"

Claire had tried to engage her older sister in conversation multiple times since their brothers had departed for the pub just after eleven o'clock that morning. She knew Fiona was annoyed at being left behind with her, but she had tried to take it all in stride. The young woman might have been sheltered, but even she could tell that something had disturbed her elder sibling deeply and she suspected it was more than family politics that had upset her.

Fiona had been like this after her assault on graduation day, before she'd left with Seamus to go on a tour of Europe to get her out of the country and away from the nightmarish memories. Claire shuddered internally, wondering what could have happened to her now, but knowing better than to ask her about it. As a Glenanne, they'd all been taught early when, how and to whom to answer or speak to.

But they had always been able to connect on the subject of fashion, so the younger girl tried again to pique Fiona's interest with the assortment of blouses and jumpers she'd brought with her for the trip. She'd already failed to get any real response regarding the jewelry and hair adornments. _Of course, maybe it was just that nothing she owned was ever going to compare to the exquisite and expensive articles in Fiona's wardrobe. _Claire supposed her trip to the swank hairdresser in Dublin also paled in comparison to the salons her sister had frequented in London, Paris, Milan and New York, no doubt.

"It's lovely," came the automatic reply, same as the last three times she'd asked the question. Fiona was in the kitchen, not even pretending to be interested in anything her sister had to say anymore, staring at the glass while mixing cranberry juice and vodka with the orange juice she'd picked up that morning for breakfast. She was already put out that she and Claire had been expected to make the breakfast and wait on her brothers, but the younger girl had been happy to do it, so her big sister had tried to be amiable and not spoil it for her. Claire had to go back to university in a couple of days and would be gone for another semester. _God only knew where she'd be by then or what she'd be doing._

Fiona's charity had lasted until Sean informed her that _he_ would be leaving with Liam to meet the man that would be arranging his transport to England shortly as part of a bombing campaign in London. Her elder brother had neglected to let her know that there was a deep cover assignment coming up.

Ms. Glenanne was totally conflicted and unsure what to be more enraged about, the totally daft thing they were planning to do or that hotheaded Sean had drawn the assignment and they had seen fit to leave her out of it. Colin had already left, apparently to arrange the necessary passports and paperwork.

"I know yer keen ta know whot they're up to; ya always war more interested in fightin' than anything else, but some things are better left alone."

Fiona did look up from her mixology then and fixed her sibling with a cold stare. "Ya'd have no idea."

Claire sighed and shrugged. "No, I suppose not, I'm not a big time jet setter, I'm just yar stupid little sister thot yer too important ta have any time fer anymore. No reason ta think tha likes o' ya would ever want ta talk ta tha likes o' me."

Her sister's harsh response died on her lips when she saw the hurt in the young woman's eyes.

Fiona dropped her gaze back down to the cocktail she was making and tried to remember when she'd started drinking in the middle of the day again as the other Glenanne girl continued on.

"I know we don' talk abou' things; it's how we war brought up. Thar's a reason they don' tell us whar they're goin' or wha' thar up ta. It's fer our own good, Fi. I dinnae know ya war so unhappy with yar man that ya had ta come home. Yer not happy har, tha' much is obvious. Dinnae he keep ya in beautiful things? Mammy said thot he took real good care o' ya."

Fiona fought down the bile that threatened to choke her as she remembered_ why exactly_ she'd left Armand. The memory of the bullet ridden bodies lying in the streets, men mostly, but a few women and children too…bullets she had helped supply to their murderers… made her sick. Her grip on the bottle of the red juice tightened as it reminded her of all the blood spilled and her hand almost shook.

"Whatever he did, could ya nae…" Finally Claire had had enough. "Ya could at least do me the courtesy o' lookin' me in the eye while I'm talkin' to ya, Fiona! Ya haven't heard a word I've said since they've gone! I'm sorry ya got stuck har wit' me, but ya could at least do a better job o' pretendin' ya care!"

"Ya spoilt little _child_," Fiona snarled, swinging her right hand to thrust a finger in her sister's face but forgetting to release the cranberry juice before she did so. The thin, sticky red liquid splashed on her younger sister's face and left a large, vivid blotch in the center of Claire's prized white angora sweater.

For a second, the only sound was the sharp intake of her breath and the splatter of the juice on the tile.

"Ya did thot on purpose, ya selfish bitch!" Claire cried out.

Fiona stood stock still for a second, staring at the red stain on the white material, and then her brain lurched into action as she set the bottle down. "It's only a jumper. Thar are worse things than losing a jumper, ya great cry baby!" she snapped. _Unbelievably horrendous and inhuman things…_

"It wa' me favorite! Liam gave this—"

"Quit yar whinin'. He'll buy ya another one. He'll buy ya any damned thing ya ask fer and two more besides. Give it har and let me clean it fer ya."

Claire whipped the ruined sweater over her head. "Ya kin shove it up yar arse fer all I care. Why are ya bein' so damned hateful? Wha' have I ever done ta ya fer ya ta treat me like ya do?" she demanded tearfully as she stormed off up the stairs towards the guest rooms.

The older woman had caught it neatly and taken it to the laundry room sink without another word. Claire's question had silenced her and her mind whirled with the younger girl's spot-on accusation.

_What had Claire ever done to her to deserve to be the object of her wrath? _She wondered as she redoubled her efforts to clean the soiled garment.

Fiona was so intent of saving it that she didn't hear the door close softly over the sounds of the running water a few minutes later as her baby sister went out, purse in hand, leaving only a note behind on the table.

()()()

As much as it galled her, Fiona had to finally admit defeat. She'd cleaned the stained garment quickly, using as hot a water as she dared on the fabric and she'd known enough not to soap the tannin-based stain, but what she hadn't considered was the cheap products that her oldest brother stocked in his laundry room and the cut-rate detergent had had soap in it. The mark lightened, but would not budge.

With a resigned breath, she also had to admit that she could no longer put off apologizing either. Claire had been right about the way she had treated her. Never mind the fact that her brothers' fury would collectively rain down upon her for hurting the girl if she didn't make amends and soon, but her baby sister hadn't deserve the brunt of her wrath. It wasn't _Claire's_ fault that she had deluded herself about who Armand was or who she had become. _It was all just so raw and close to the surface right now…_

_Yer not happy har, tha' much is obvious…_

The sad truth was she wasn't happy _anywhere_ right now and she'd managed to make sure her sibling felt as miserable and wounded as she was. _Best ta be on it before she goes cryin' ta Liam abou' it._

After calling her sister's name with no answer, Fiona finally started checking the bedrooms upstairs. Coming back down the polished wooden stair case, she noticed the folded paper on the small cherry wood table in the foyer by the front door. It informed her that Claire had gone off in search of a new jumper and someone who wanted her around. Since O'Connor's Boutique was not far from the pub and Claire's best friend since childhood was the owner's daughter, it made sense that she'd go there.

It only took Fiona a moment to remember Mary's name and another to recall all the times the girl had slept over in the very house she was standing in. Mary and Claire had gotten caught in kitchen at midnight in search of sweets on young Miss O'Connor's third visit. This time, the memory of her sister talking her way out of trouble brought a smile to Fiona's face. Not only had their Mammy _not _punished her, but Maeve had taught the girls to make a proper bread pudding in the middle of the night.

_Bread pudding_…Fiona decided that it would be a good place to start apologizing when Claire came back from shopping, with or without Mary in tow. It was her baby sister's favorite dessert. Her cooking skills, which were not the best to begin with, had probably suffered from disuse these past five years, but both baking and bomb making were all about basic chemistry anyway. Fiona was sure she could figure it out.

So she rang up the boutique and spoke to Mary's mother. The girls were there and, since business was slow, Mrs. O'Connor was going to close up shop early and let Claire and Mary enjoy their reunion picking through the racks undisturbed. Maureen told her to just come round the back if she needed to. Fiona wished them a good time playing dress up and set about trying to follow the recipe in her mother's hand scribbled cookbook.

()()()

In the end, Ms. Glenanne would have to admit that her attempt at Irish bread pudding with caramel whiskey sauce was dreadful. So, there was something to it after all about her spending more time in the basement with her Da cooking up C-4 than in the kitchen with her Mammy preparing meals.

She had put the confection in the oven and gone round to the boutique to collect her sister and her friend to sample her cooking and hopefully make amends appropriately to her sister in front of Claire's childhood friend, who had by now no doubt heard of all the cruel things Fiona had done.

Fair enough, she _had_ done them.

But when she arrived at the little parade of shops and gone round the back past the green grocer and hair dresser, she learned to her dismay that Mary and Claire had gone into the city to do some shopping. While it was the middle of the afternoon and the girls had gone off together, Liam had ordered her to keep an eye on Claire specifically. Not only had she not done so, but she'd sent the young woman out the door crying mad. What if he had wanted her to watch their little sister for reasons beyond the usual overprotective hovering they all did around Maeve's baby girl? This area was hardcore republican and they would be protected here, but if they'd gone on into Belfast... Fiona fretted as she strode quickly back to their home.

She'd found her creation on the stove top, excessively brown and filling the kitchen with a horrid smell. But the charred dessert was not the only thing that startled her when she had returned.

"Fiona Ciaran Glenanne, are ya tryin' ta burn down yar big brother's house?!"

What she had thought was the smell of burnt pudding was actually tobacco smoke and what was generating it turned out to be her mother's second cousin, Jeannie Donahue. The bleach bottle blonde was standing next to the range with a cigarette in one hand and a spoon in the other, her nose wrinkled in obvious distaste resulting from the bite of Fiona's concoction that she was trying to swallow.

Since she knew that Jeannie cleaned house and did the shopping as well as some of the cooking for Liam and Colin, her "niece" wasn't necessarily surprised to see Jeannie; she just hadn't expected to see her right then. Stupid people who didn't like breathing regularly had periodically suggested that their shapely female relative performed _other_ services for the Glenanne brothers, but never more than once.

"Is it really thot bad?" Fiona asked by way of greeting. "I followed Mammy's recipe, though she wa' nae very good abou' writing down exact measurements, ingredients and such."

"Whar have ya been?" Jeannie queried, handing her the spoon with the half eaten bite on it.

"I went round ta O'Connor's ta collect Claire, but she's gone off shopping wit' her girlfriend. Why?"

"Yar brother's been tryin' ta call ya and ya warn't answerin' so he sent me ta fetch ya."

"I wa' at tha boutique just now… " She popped the spoon into her mouth and almost choked on the morsel. "Ack... thot's not bread pudding, thot's a whiskey cake! It's dreadful….." Her voice trailed off as she swallowed hard and tried to work out what the emergency was. Was it simply because they hadn't answered the phone and he'd overreacted or was something else going on in Belfast?

_Something that Claire could be in the middle of right this minute…_

Just then the front door burst open and Colin, her quiet, computer mad brother, the one who looked like a stereotypical Irishman with his pale freckled skin and flaming red hair, strode into the room, "Liam's been callin' tha house for ages! Whar've ya been?"

His sister looked between him and her unofficial auntie. "I jus' told Jeannie I wa' at O'Connor's; wha' tha hell is goin' on?"

"Thar's been a shooting in town and thar 's a riot goin' on ta boot."

As if on cue, the phone rang. Her brother snatched it up out of the cradle before she could even reach for it. For several long nerve wracking seconds, he said nothing before turning to his sister, panic filling his bright green eyes as his white freckled skin turned whiter still.

"Didja say ya wa' round ta O'Connors looking fer Claire?" he asked in a trembling voice.

"WHY?" she demanded, her stomach dropping into her feet.

"Cuz thot wa' Mary O'Connor's mam on the tha phone. Mary's called ta say they war in front o' House o' Fraser's when they saw a load o' little bastids from tha Divis estate throwin' rocks and bottles at a patrol. Mary said Claire went ta find a pay phone ta call ya an'... an' Mary wa' tryin' ta get ta har... but tha riotin' had already started. She couldnae find Claire and then she heard the shots an' she saw..."

Colin suddenly couldn't finish his sentence. He took several depth breaths as he placed the hand set back in the cradle. Turning his deathly pale face to look up at the fear-stricken women before him, he whispered low, "Mary's … she's comin' home without har… our Claire's... she's...she's not..."

Fiona's vision tunneled, the blackness creeping around the edges, and the voices that were speaking to her seemed to be talking from a distance. She knew her body wasn't moving, but somehow the floor seemed to be tilting at an odd angle. Somewhere in the silence, the sound of the spoon leaving her suddenly numb fingers to clatter on the tile sounded like gunshots as a miniscule part of her thought that it was good that Claire would never know how bad that bread pudding was that she'd made for her.

()()()

_R__ivalry deartháir nó deirfiúr _means Sibling Rivalry


	3. A am chun slán a fhágáil

_**Disclaimer: Sadly, we still do not own Burn Notice; we're still just borrowing these amazing characters.  
**_

**A/N:** Again We want to say_** a huge thank you**_ to everyone for reading and reviewing Chapter 2. We_ really_ appreciate all the positive feedback. This is a tragic tale of a family enmeshed in warfare and violence for decades. As it is Memorial Day in the US today, we would like to acknowledge all the victims of war and their families around the world, wherever their battlefield may have been. Another special thanks to Amanda Hawthorn for lending her enthusiasm and BETA skills to this effort and, as always, much love to all the Burner girls on FB, Twitter and the PCC! You rock!

_Thanks again for all your support!_

**VICTIMS of WAR**

**_A am chun slán a fhágáil_**

_**Belfast January 1996**_

Fiona Glenanne stood in front of the full length mirror attached to the front of her wardrobe door, studying her reflection. She slowly dragged her ivory-backed hairbrush through her long red-gold hair with long lazy strokes. Her face, denuded of make-up, looked pale and gaunt and the hand that gripped the hairbrush trembled slightly as her bottom lip began to quiver. It had been the same for the last six days; she could barely look at herself without remembering those last few hateful words she had spoken to her little sister, words she'd never have a chance to take back.

"Ya spoilt little _child..._"

"Ya great cry baby!"

"Quit yar whinin'..."

Claire had died alone, surrounded by violence and thinking her big sister hated her. Fiona sniffed and let her hand drop to her side. "_If somebody had ta die, why couldnae it've been me?_" She threw the hairbrush onto the nearby dressing table, uncaring when it bounced and fell to the floor.

Blinking away the tears that threatened to burst forth, she returned to staring at her reflection. Dressed all in black, except for flesh colored tights, with her face sans make up and her auburn hair hanging loose about her shoulders, she looked more like a teenager than a woman of the world.

She pursed her lips, the corners turning down. She had seen so much, both the good and the bad, from the awe-inspiring marvellous to the depths of soul-destroying depravity. She had flown around the world twice, lived in ornate palaces and in the best hotel rooms money could buy, dined with Arab sheikhs, Russian oligarchs and Serbian warlords, whereas Claire hadn't been given the chance to experience anything life had to offer.

Claire Bridgitte Glenanne hadn't even owned a passport, while Fiona Cairan Glenanne possessed four... all in different names.

_It shoulda been me... I shoulda been wit' her...I shoulda been watchin' har... It's me fault..._

A light knock on her bedroom door pulled her back from her dark thoughts. Turning as the door opened, she stared at the intruder and managed to raise a half smile of welcome.

"Can I come in, sweetheart?" came a quietly worded request.

"Have they sent ya ta check up on me, Jeannie?" Fiona slumped down onto the edge of her bed.

The older woman entered the room, closing the door softly behind her, and then leaned back against the hard wooden surface. "People are startin' ta arrive, an' yar place is at yar Mammy's side."

Jeannie saw the moisture building in the younger woman's eyes and instantly stepped forward, crossing the room in a few strides. "Aw, sweetheart, it'll be alright, come now. Ya have ta be strong." She settled down on the bed, drawing Fiona tenderly into her arms.

"I- I-" Fiona hiccuped and then wiped at her eyes before trying again. "I know, I know I have ta be strong fer me Ma, an'... an' Liam needs me ta be -" She stopped and listened to the sound of a helicopter flying low over head circling the Glenanne's Belfast home. Her features instantly changed from displaying sorrow to burning hatred. "I wan' tham all dead... I wan' ta tek 'em apart... I wan' ta kill every feckin' one o' tham."

Jeannie cupped Fiona's cheeks between her hands and shifted round until she could lock eyes with the younger woman. "An' ya will," Jeannie told her, her own eyes a flame with vengeance. "But nae today. Today is fer our Angel. Today we say goodbye and then we get 'em, every... las'... one o' tham."

Fiona stared into the fierce blue eyes of her distant relative. Swallowing thickly, she nodded her assent.

"Good girl... Now, let's get ya ready."

Freed of Jeannie's firm grip on her face, the young woman got to her feet and walked stiffly over to her dressing table. Drawing on every last bit of her tenuous self control, she stared into the small oval mirror on the top and made herself a promise. Today was to say goodbye. Tomorrow she would take up her guns and rediscover her bomb making skills and, the day after that, she was going back to war.

"_Dioltas!_" she hissed the word for revenge.

"Aye, sweetheart... Dioltas." Jeannie's hands lay gently on Fiona's narrow shoulders. "But _tomorrow..._ Ya understand thot?

With Jeannie standing over her, Fiona put the finishing touches to her appearance. Picking up her small black clutch bag, she dropped a .22 calibre revolver inside alongside her rosary. Smoothing her hands down the sides of her knee length black skirt, she straightened the hem of her black roll neck jumper and slipped her stocking feet into her plain black court shoes. After swallowing down the last of her sorrow, she turned towards the older woman and tried desperately to make her mouth form a brave smile.

"Do I look alright?" she asked, trying her best to hold herself together.

"Ya look fine, sweetheart. Now, let's go find yar Mammy."

They walked slowly down the stairs, Jeannie leading the way, clearing a path through the other mourners. The younger woman stared blankly ahead, ignoring everybody as she passed by the assembled relatives and close friends who had been invited into the house.

As soon as she saw her mother, Fiona froze. She knew nobody blamed her. The guilt she was feeling was all of her own doing, but it didn't change anything. She blinked and, when her eyes opened, Maeve Glenanne was in front of her, her mammy's arms open wide to draw her last baby girl into a warm embrace.

"Come on, sweetheart, come along wit' me, keep me company. Yar Grandma is har. She wan's ta hear all abou' when ya stayed in Paris... I think she wan's ta trade stories wit' ya... She still talk's abou' climbin' tha Eiffel Tower wit yar granddaddy, even though he's been gone fer o'er thirty years."

Fiona allowed her mother to lead her across the room, her feet only dragging slightly as they neared the light oak wood coffin set up on a table at the side of the room.

She stared down at her baby sister's sweet face. The young woman looked for all the world like she was just taking a nap. Hesitantly she reached out, her fingers carefully rearranging a stray curl which had fallen out of place.

"She spent so much time at tha hairdressers, I swear they kept a chair aside jus' fer har," Maeve gave her older girl's shoulders a squeeze.

"She looks beautiful, Mammy. She always looked so beautiful..." Fiona sniffed and turned away, as a wave of sorrow washed over her yet again.

"Aye, darlin'... Let's go an' ya can pay yar respects ta yar Grandma. Tell har abou' Paris and Milan." Without another word, they made their way to where her the formidable Fionuilla Glenanne and her only surviving daughter, the many times widowed Claire, held court in the room full of women.

For the next hour, Fiona let her mind drift as she sat sipping from a glass filled with premium single malt whisky and listening to stories of sweet, kind, amiable Claire Glenanne. She acknowledged the arrival of each of the mourners who came to pay their respects, but all the time she was replaying the last six days in her head.

_She had been sitting on the couch, crying so hard she had already been sick twice. Jeannie had held onto her trembling body as she screamed in between sobs, the guilt of allowing her baby sister to go out alone tearing her apart. She had barely heard the older woman sending Colin to bring her box of Valium from the bathroom cabinet, nor had she been fully aware of having the small blue pills forced into her mouth and being made to wash them down with a sip of water._

_But even in a drugged haze, she had been conscious enough to witness Liam storm into the living room, his face a mask of anguish mixed with unbridled rage. He had come through the door behind Sean, who had staggered across the carpet and fallen to his knees in the middle of the room. The youngest male Glenanne's face was marred not only by tears, but by a black eye, bloody nose and split lip._

"_Sean!" Jeannie had cried out, dropping to her knees beside the young man. "Wha' happened?" _

_While Liam had stood in front of the fire place, bracing himself with his hands on the mantle piece, Sean had knocked Jeannie's hands away from examining his face and got to his feet before moving as far away from his eldest brother as he could._

"_I know yer all hurtin', an' ya want ta get out thar' an' take yar revenge," Liam had spoken quietly without looking round. _

_Even with two Valium inside her and racked with grief and guilt, she had felt the icy waves of suppressed violence coming from her brother._

"_But yer not gonna do anytin'... None o' ya are ta do a single t'ing wit' out clearing it wit' me first... We do nuttin' until after tha funeral... Am... I...Clear?" _

_They all nodded solemnly, all except Sean who opened his mouth to complain. _

"_Ya -" _

_He'd gotten no further. Liam had reacted instantly in the face of such blatant insubordination, slamming his youngest brother into the wall with a crash. "I said, Am... I... Clear, babby brudder? Do I have ta repeat me self?" Liam had snarled, his face inches from Sean's._

_The young man had grunted as he'd attempted to push Liam away. But all he had gotten in return was a forearm pressed firmly into his throat, threatening to suffocate him._

"_Fine," he'd eventually spat out, coughing as his older brother released him and stepped back._

"_This -" Liam sucked in a breath. "This is gonna be harder than ya kin imagine... But we're Glenanne's an' w'ar gonna act like it... None o' us is ta blame fer whot happened. None o' us, so get thot nonsense outta yar heads now. Thar's gonna be cops, an' tha army an' yer gonna have all sorts of scum comin' outta tha woodwork trying ta cause trouble. So ya say an' do nuttin' unless I tell ya ta."_

_She remembered at the time thinking how ironic it was that he was demanding their obedience and for them all to keep a tight rein on their emotions while he barely had any control of his own. _

"_I've called Seamus – – I've given ham tha news. He's on his way o'er ta tell our Mammy now... Thar's still some t'ing's I need ta do har, but tomorra – we're all goin' home ta Dublin. We'll stay thar until we can get Claire back and then we'll bring Mammy back here wit' us. Claire should lay next ta Da and Pat."_

"Fiona, Fiona, get ta yar feet."

Her mother's hissed command and a hand on her elbow brought Fiona back to the present. Biting back a sob, she swayed as her grim faced brothers filed one by one into the room.

"Ma... Fiona..." Liam stopped in front of his mother and leaned down to kiss her cheek, before moving onto his sister and then his grandmother and Aunt Claire. Seamus followed, then Colin and finally Sean, his face still disfigured from his fight with Liam a week earlier.

Fiona moved as if in a dream, totally disconnected from the scene before her, as they each approached Claire to say their final goodbye. When her time came, she stepped up to her sister and leaned into the coffin, placing a kiss on her cold forehead then lowering her mouth to over the dead girl's ear.

"_Am sorry, I shouldnae ever said wha' I did,_" she whispered brokenly.

_**()()**_

Liam Glenanne couldn't remember the first time he heard a gunshot or saw blood leaking from a wound. The sights and sounds of war had always been around him. He had a vivid memory of an army boot stamping down on his thigh when he was four years old. A soldier too eager to get his hands on Patrick Glenanne had trodden on and broken his leg as he had played on the kitchen floor.

He had been sixteen years old the first time he had joined his older brother and father in the internment camp at Long Kesh. He had come home three months later with scars on his back and a healthy fear of ever going back there again. It was that fear which had caused him to buckle down at school and at eighteen be accepted into Belfast University to study medicine.

He had been twenty one years old and just entering his third year as a medical student when he'd got the phone call telling him of his father's death. For Liam, the news of Patrick Senior's demise had not come as a great surprise. After all, the old man had spent most of his life making and planting bombs for the IRA; that is, when he wasn't robbing banks or post offices with his small group of comrades.

He knew his younger siblings, particularly the girls, had an idolized vision of their Da, mostly because of their Ma's rambling tales of love and adventure while skilfully skirting around many of the harsh realities of life as a Glenanne during the nineteen sixties and early seventies. No, he hadn't been surprised at all by Patrick Senior's death at the hand of the British; it had been a foregone conclusion, especially after the failed attempt to attack Whitehall and the Houses of Parliament.

Regardless of his feelings on the matter, it hadn't stopped him from joining his big brother in taking revenge. In retaliation, they had ambushed a milk delivery van on its way to distribute its wares to Long Kesh and exchanged the bottles of milk for a large bomb he had made himself; after all, he'd been the only one in the family_ still alive_ with a degree in chemistry.

The resulting explosion had killed two and wounded fifteen of the people who worked in the area surrounding the main entrance to the prison. And it also resulted in his second visit to the same establishment. They held him without charge or a trial for six months before they admitted they had no evidence and conceded that Patrick Glenanne's second son wasn't going to break.

Disappearing for six months plus the publicity regarding his father's death had destroyed his hopes and dreams of staying at medical school in Belfast. But his older brother found him a new benefactor. In return for promising to treat any IRA volunteers with injuries that couldn't be taken to a regular hospital, the organization found him a place at another school under a false identity.

He had watched from afar as the family firebrand, Patrick Junior, full of righteous anger and hate, upended the family from the relative safety of the farm and moved them all to a house off the Falls Road and into the republican heartland. And just like with his Da, Liam hadn't been shocked that his older brother went to meet his maker in a battle which had started inside the family home in front of his mother with the children cowering in the laundry room before finally spilling out onto the street where he was brutally gunned down.

Liam hadn't complained when he had to come home to take over as head of the family; he knew where his duties lay. He had thought he'd learnt from his father's and brother's mistakes and he had thought he knew best how to protect his family. Breaking the Glenanne connection to the IRA was out of the question. Besides, he'd had his own hatred and distrust of their British overlords to deal with. But what he had done was go before the Executive Council and explain how his specialized skill set could be put to a better use.

One thing he'd been positive about was that the Glenannes would no longer be "volunteers" for the glorious cause. He'd displayed his skills for getting answers out of captured traitors during the time of the "Super Grasses," IRA supporters who'd sold out to the British for large sums of money and the promise of a protected new life wherever they wanted to live. From that moment on, he got paid very well whenever he was called upon.

Sighing, Liam stood up straighter and closed his eyes just for a moment. He _had_ to retain his composure; getting lost in the past wasn't going to help him steer the family through this tragedy. Patrick Glenannes', both Senior and Junior, deaths had been a foregone conclusion of lives lived violently... _But Claire_...

He blinked and his feet shifted on the carpet. This should have _never_ have happened to Claire. Opening his eyes, he looked down and found himself staring straight into the sleeping face of his sweet, innocent baby sister.

"Liam, it's time."

The soft voice belonged to his partner in his first legitimate business venture, a funeral home on the outskirts of Belfast. It was Kieran Mulhay who had collected Claire's remains when the coroner had finally allowed them to take her home.

Sighing, he automatically took hold of the edge of the long ornately carved wooden board he was handed. A lot of people thought he had no feelings, that he was just a cold hearted monster at the beck and call of his IRA masters. But it wasn't that he didn't feel, he did. He was just very good at hiding his weaknesses.

At that moment though, his strength and composure nearly failed him. He heard Seamus take a sharp breath and the lid which they held between them wavered as his brother's hands shook. Then, as they finally lowered it onto the casket, both men shuddered as their mother let out a long heart rending wail of anguish, followed immediately by their sister's sobbing cries.

While the coffin lid was screwed down, Liam stood stiffly, raising his eyes away from the sight of his little sister being sealed away for eternity only to take in the sight of his mother taking comfort in the arms of her mother and sister-in-law, while Seamus's wife Isabelle and Jeannie supported Fiona as his sister's legs crumbled underneath her.

Rubbing a hand over his forehead and surreptitiously wiping a tear away from his eye, Liam fought to maintain his self-control... _He was supposed to protect them, keep them all safe. _The sound of the women's wails of distress was causing him to come close to tipping over the edge. _He had failed back in '91 when Fiona had been raped, and he had failed again now... Claire... Where the hell had it all gone wrong? He had done his best to keep her – to keep them all safe. His position of power in the PIRA, the money they had hidden in bank accounts around the world, the fear he'd instilled in anybody stupid enough to come near any member of his family... None of it had been enough to protect his sister from the stupidity and cowardice of a single soldier._

"Liam, laddy," Kieran Mulhay's soft sympathetic tones put an end to his brooding. "It's time ta go."

With a nodding gesture to his brothers, Liam took his corner of the coffin and then the Glenanne brothers lifted it up and settled it on their shoulders. Waiting for the way to be cleared, they slowly walked out of the house to where the horse drawn hearse waited.

The whole street was lined with cars belonging to the mourners and hard, cold-eyed men dressed in black suits and heavy overcoats, which not only kept them warm on the icy morning, but also hid the automatic weapons which each man carried. High up above them, two helicopters circled. One was carrying the markings of the Ulster constabulary, while the other was emblazoned with the RTE slogan for the Irish news channel, but Liam was sure that the British intelligence agencies had their own people in at least one of the aircrafts.

It had been the same for the last week. There was normally some sort of low level surveillance monitoring his movements; he was used to that. But since Claire's death, there had been a permanent team following him closely wherever he or any member of his family went. Along with MI-6 making their lives a misery, there had also been the press hounding them, both Irish and British, all trying to get interviews and, when that failed, they took photographs and used their own captions. When Seamus had beaten one reporter half to death before turning the guard dogs loose to keep any more unwelcome callers away from their Ma's house, the news teams had taken to the air.

Breathing deeply, he stood quietly watching as the older and infirm members of the family were settled into the waiting row of limousines and the family wreathes were placed about the coffin.

"Liam, thar waiting fer ya."

He spun at the words and then caught the small gesture Kieran made towards his siblings, who were waiting for him to join them at the head of the funeral procession.

"Take yar time, lad. Thar's plenty o' time yet."

"Jus' give me a minute, Kieran." He moved away before the other man could answer.

He took a few more minutes to do his own scan of the watching crowd, searching the sea of faces for a sign of any of his many enemies. Only when he was satisfied did he make his way slowly over to his family's side and, as he walked, he thought about the last time he had heard the same words used by Mulhay a few seconds ago.

_He had been sitting on the edge of his bed, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He had been so wrapped up in how he was going to deal the tragedy that he hadn't even been aware that somebody had entered his bedroom until the mattress dipped behind him._

"_Liam," A soft hand landed on his shoulder and, without looking up, he'd tilted his head to lay his cheek against the hand. "Liam, darlin', thar waiting fer ya."_

_He'd nodded and gotten to his feet, turning to face Jeannie, who was kneeling on the mattress, her face wash clean of make up and she had already changed out of her bright, tight fitting clothing and into one of her few plain dark colored dresses. _

"_Whose har?" he'd muttered lowly._

"_Val Temple turned up ten minutes ago wid a couple of his seconds... He says he's har on behalf o' tha provo council... Tha two fella's fram Newry thot ya sent fer have arrived. Thar settin' Colin up wit' all tha latest software an' are gonna stay ta help him out... I took tha liberty o' callin' Doctor Matthews ta see ta Fiona and Sean... And – and a coupla constables came round ta say – ta say one o' us has ta go – – ta go..." Jeannie had sniffed and gulped, her features crumbling in grief as she'd climbed off the bed to slip her arms around his waist and bury her head into his chest._

"_They need a positive identification." He'd nodded while his arms had loosely held her. "I'll do it, an' then I'll call Kieran. He'll know wha' to do when they give her back ta us." He'd kissed the top of Jeannie's head and then leaned away. "Has Fiona stopped crying yet?" _

_Jeannie had shaken her head. "She's blamin' harself, I've already given har a coupla Valium, but she won' sleep... Tha black eye an' split lip ya gave Sean, ya cut tha inside o' his mouth ta pieces an' it's gonna need stitches." She'd given him an accusing look as she'd spoken._

"_He wa' gonna tear Belfast apart...And I couldnae allow it." He'd tried to justify the beating he had given his youngest brother._

"_I know, luv." She'd kissed his chest before releasing him and taking a step back. "Seamus called. Yar Mammy is in a bad way... He's called thot priest, Fadder Conlon, ta come see har... Oh, an' tha press turned up not long after he got thar... I told him ta turn tha dogs loose. It'll keep tha buggers away fram tha door."_

As he neared the group, his gaze settled on Jeannie and Isabelle, who were still standing on either side of Fiona, keeping his sister on her feet and encouraging her to take her place in the procession in front of the limousines.

He had no idea how he would have coped in the last week without Jeannie Donahue there in the background supporting him. She knew they could never be a couple, never openly at least. There would be no children and no going out for meals or visits to the back row in the cinema. She had to put up with the rumors that spread around the estate regarding her character, though nobody ever gossiped openly more than once, and her chances of ever finding anybody who could give her a normal life were ruined by her association with him. Despite all that, she had remained with him and for that Liam was very grateful.

_**()()**_

Standing on the driveway, watching the wreathes being placed onto the hearse and with the soft sobs of his mother and Fiona echoing in his ears, Seamus Glenanne took a moment to light up a smoke and breathe in a lungful of nicotine. He had given up smoking on New Years Day at the behest of Isabelle, his wife of ten years. But after what had occurred three days later, he felt his New Years resolution could be put on hold, at least for a while.

Staring up at the circling helicopters, he thought briefly about the surface to air missile launcher and the five missiles he had in a storage unit in Galway. A smile ghosted over his lips as he imagined his brother Liam's response to such an action. _No, _he decided, _he had gotten enough of a lecture when his big brother discovered what he had done to the first reporter who had turned up at the family home. The older man would burst a blood vessel if he incinerated two helicopters over West Belfast._

Finishing his cigarette, Seamus tossed it to the ground and then wiped a hand over his eyes. Thankfully both his mother and Fiona had finally stopped crying. He had heard enough weeping and wailing to last him a life time.

_He was positive that until the day he died he would never forget his mother's reaction to the news of Claire's death. She had stared at him as if he had been speaking in a foreign language and then, as realization had dawned, she had slowly collapsed in on herself. If he hadn't been there, she would have fallen to the floor. _

_And then had come the unearthly wailing, a high pitched shriek of despair he had never heard before and he never wanted to hear again. She had been completely inconsolable, rocking back and forth in his arms, while her hand curled into a fist and beat against her chest. Eventually he'd had to carry her to her bed and put an urgent call through to Father Conlon, the local parish priest, to come to the house and then another call to his wife telling her to send the children over to her parents and get over there to help him out._

_He had only just reached the bottom of the stairs to wait for the arrival of the priest when the first bloodsucker had turned up on the doorstep. As soon as the man had introduced himself as a reporter and asked how the family felt about the death of Claire, he had punched the man so hard he had actually felt the reporter's nose break under his fist. By the time he had finished, it was all the piece of vermin could do to crawl away._

He was rubbing his left hand over the torn and swollen knuckles of his right hand when he noticed his sister's soft sobs had stopped and that Liam had joined their group. His big brother was cradling his sister in his arms, holding her shaking body to his chest as he whispered into her ear. Whatever he said to her seemed to work, as the young woman straightened up and accepted a set of dark sunglasses from him to hide her tear filled eyes.

The two black horses pulling the hearse moved restlessly as the crowd of Glenannes and their friends and supporters moved into loose lines behind the vehicle. Liam had an arm wrapped around their mother's shoulders, holding her close to his right side, and he held on to Fiona's hand on his left. Without having to think, Seamus took up his place within the family, his hand reaching out for his wife's, pulling Isabelle to his side as they began the slow sad walk to the church and cemetery a mile away.

_Seamus had little memory of his father's funeral. Looking back, he realized he must have still been suffering from shock. A month after Pat Sr. had found his way back into Ireland after his failed attempt to blow up the British government, the army had turned up in force at the farm, surrounding the property before smashing through the doors just as the sun had began to peek over the horizon. His Da, Pat Junior and, for the very first time, he too had been dragged out of bed and handcuffed. At seventeen, he had been considered old enough to be taken into custody, too. _

_He had arrived back home after two months of being locked away, battered and bruised, looking for some love and attention, only to discover his Father had died while in custody and the funeral was a day away. _

_He remembered standing over his father's coffin dressed in military fatigues, the lower half of his face covered by a scarf and a woolen hat hiding his hair, flanked by Pat Junior and Liam, each of them holding a semi automatic handgun which they emptied into the air._

_Afterwards, they had disappeared into the assembled crowd only to reappear minutes later, having shed the fatigues, dressed in black suits looking like they had been there all the time. He shivered, remembering the fear that the constabulary would later arrest him for the act of defiance. _

_When a few years later, Pat Junior was shot down in the street, he again had been dragged away. This time, he had still been locked away when his brother was laid to rest. _

_What had happened that day had left him shocked to the core. They had all been sitting down to breakfast when both the front and back doors had been smashed in simultaneously. As the younger children had screamed and run for cover, he and Pat had tried to fight back. But they weren't facing regular soldiers, he'd discovered later that they had fought and lost to an elite unit of Paratroopers. He had fallen early in the fight after a rifle stock had caught him with a glancing blow to his head. He had then been pinned to the floor by a heavy boot pressed firmly onto his back and three rifle muzzles being pushed into his face._

_He had been forced to lay still as his younger siblings had been herded into the laundry room and while his older brother had continued to put up a fight. He had unashamedly wept when he had been dragged away and made to pass directly by his brother's bullet riddled corpse, which had been left lying out in the street. _

_They had kept him sitting in a small overcrowded cell for four months before they finally let him go without charge. All he had been able to work out was that two gunmen had broken into a policeman's home and slaughtered him before his wife and child. The raid on the house and arrest had been part of a rounding up of the usual suspects._

_When he had eventually been released, he had rushed home to see his family and then, after kissing his mother and speaking to Liam, he had traveled across Belfast to where his girlfriend of four years lived and asked her to marry him_.

_**()()**_

As they walked slowly towards the local church, Colin Glenanne glanced out of the corner of his eye at the hard-eyed men whom Liam had brought in as security. They all knew the whole family was under intense scrutiny and there were enemies out there who would like nothing better than a chance to cause them pain. Liam had refused the offer of PIRA protection and had instead decided to hire his own mercenaries. His reasoning was that he wasn't going to give_ anybody_ an excuse to turn his baby sister's funeral into a political statement.

Colin also knew that even though Fiona had fallen to pieces, the real weak link was himself. If anybody was crazy enough to attack the funeral procession, it would be him who would be ducking for cover as his siblings returned fire. It wasn't that he was a coward; it was that he simply didn't have the same instincts as his brothers and sister.

He could fire a gun. Pat Junior had drilled him from the age of ten to handle any firearm, whether it was a handgun or rifle, but he never enjoyed the lessons, not like Fiona and Sean. The pair of them had been forever following their big brother to the firing range or their Da into the basement to help make bullets or bombs, whereas his gifts lay in his computer skills.

_The first time he truly felt part of the family came after Pat Junior's death, when Liam had come to him and presented him with the most up to date hacking software money could buy to go with the state of the art computer he found waiting for him in his bedroom. All Liam wanted him to do was hack into the Royal Ulster Constabulary database and find out who had gunned down their big brother and where the men had been posted to next._

_But he had been young and stupid. Though he had gotten Liam the information he wanted, Colin had left an electronic trail and got caught. Luckily, thanks to Liam's new found skills in intimidation, the judge at his trial had let him off with a sentence of sixty days in a low security prison. It was ironic really that he was the only Glenanne to ever serve time as a convicted felon._

_It hadn't bothered him though. Going into an open prison had been easy, especially as a Glenanne. When he had gotten out, Liam told him he no longer needed to keep up with the firearms practice unless he wanted to. Instead, he was going to be set up as the family information specialist. _

He worked solely for Liam. Anything his big brother wanted to know, if it was held on a computer, he could find it or if he couldn't, one of his circle of friends undoubtedly could. So, over the last few days with the help of two young men from Anarchy UK, he had been trying to find out who had killed their baby sister.

The coroner's inquest had been held behind closed doors and all the reports had been sealed to protect the identity of the army patrol. So far he had failed to come up with a single name, or even an identity of which troop or unit had been on patrol. He had never failed Liam before and he was determined not to do so now. So even as he walked solemnly along the city street, he was trying to come up with a way of bypassing the Ministry of Defences security measures.

The toll of the church bells ringing out and Sean's fingers digging him in the side reminded him of what he was doing. They were outside the church and the doors of the hearse were opened. Moving alongside Sean, he prepared to take the weight of his little sister's coffin onto his shoulder again.

_**()()**_

Sitting in the front pew, with Colin on one side of him and Fiona on the other, Sean Glenanne tried desperately to retain control of his turbulent emotions. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Fiona's pale drawn features as she took comfort in the priest's words. He could see, for the first time since Claire's death, a kind of peace settle over his one remaining sister.

Her fingers tightened their hold on his hand as if she sensed how troubled he was and was trying to keep him from flying away. It was still all too raw; he wanted to rage and scream at the injustice of his baby sister's death. With all his heart, he wanted nothing more than to get out onto the streets of Belfast and commit murder, eight bloody murders to be precise. He wanted to find the patrol which had killed his sister and introduce each and every one of them to the pain he was suffering.

_Yer too much like Pat Junior... Ya have ta learn ta think... Ya have ta stop lettin' yar emotions dictate yar actions. _Liam had informed him of his faults, as he had been marched down the street with his big brother's fingers gripping the back of his neck.

It was true. As a kid, he had been proud of being compared to his oldest brother. Tall, slim with a shock of reddish gold hair, Pat Junior had been a true, loud, opinionated Irishman. His temper could go from jovial to homicidal in a spilt second. Sean knew he had the same traits. He was forever letting his emotions rule his head and it had gotten him into trouble more than once.

If anything, Fiona was worse than him. He was sure if she had been born a man, there would have been no stopping her. He knew as soon as she got over her tears and self recriminations, they were all going to have to watch out for their tiny delicate looking sister.

_She had always been a hot head. When she was a child, they had all borne the brunt of her anger at one time or another when sibling teasing went too far. She had once launched herself from the top of the stairs onto Seamus's back after he had used one of her stuffed toys for target practice. Luckily, at sixteen years of age, her older brother had managed to catch the enraged seven year old in his arms and neither of them had been hurt. Colin hadn't come off quite so well; when she was thirteen, she had broken her brother's nose with one well aimed punch for not letting her join in a game of football. _

_Liam had missed Fiona's wild tomboy phase. She had been six years old when he went off to university and, when he came back to take over as head of the family, it wasn't long before he had shipped them off to Dublin to keep them safe. _

Sean ran his tongue lightly over his sore lip. Liam only saw her tiny frame and the airs and graces she had developed during her time with Armand. He had forgotten about the girl who had spent hours on the firing range with their oldest brother or in the basement working with their Da. At nine years old, she had known all her Daddy's recipes for home made explosives and the different ways of putting the chemicals together depending on what you wanted blown up.

_He'd been like Liam once, disregarding Fiona's skills and abilities as if her gender made her unfit to take up the Cause, as if being a female made her incapable of doing man's work. After what he'd seen growing up with the little hell cat, he should have known better. He'd scoffed and complained when she'd returned from her overseas excursions with Seamus and had demanded to be included._

_That is, until she'd saved his life, the operation and their cache of military grade C-4 by doing something so insane it left him searching for his balls for a week thereafter just to make sure she hadn't borrowed them permanently. He'd never told a soul, not even his brothers, what she'd done. _

As they all shuffled to their feet and the first hymn was to be sung, Sean was still worrying about how they were going to contain the fury of Fiona Glenanne. It was obvious to him that Liam had no idea what his sister was capable of. The girls had always managed to wrap Liam around their little fingers. Fiona denied it, claimed it was only Claire who manipulated their older brother, but he knew better. Fiona was just more subtle.

_They had been at the meeting with the PIRA officer who was making his travel arrangements and organizing the safe-house where he would stay before and after the bomb attack in London when word had reached them of a riot taking place in the city center._

_Liam, being the mother hen that he was, had instantly called home and had been irritated when neither girl picked up. They couldn't leave the meeting, so he had tried three more times before calling Jeannie and then Colin, ordering the pair of them to get round to the house and find out where the girls had gone or, if they were home, why the hell they weren't answering his calls._

Sean shuddered as he remembered they had been walking down the back stairs leading to the main bar when somebody had shouted out that a girl had been shot by a soldier. Then moments later, as they reached the bottom of the stairs, as Liam made another attempt to call home, the shout went out that the dead girl was Claire Glenanne.

_The bar had gone silent as they stepped into the open. He had stood there, his heart beating so hard he thought it was going to bust out of his chest. A cold chill had started in the pit of his stomach and he remained rooted to the spot as Liam had picked up the bearer of bad news by his neck and had him pinned to the wall as he demanded more details._

_As the sorry tale had come to an end and Liam had released his captive, he had felt something break deep inside his soul and a burning rage had broken free. He had been half way through the door and inches from his feet hitting the pavement when he had been dragged back inside._

"_Not now, little brudder, we have ta find Fiona... We cannae do har any good if we get arrested." _

_But he hadn't been capable of stopping, he hadn't been capable of thinking at all, and that had been when Liam had hit him. The fight, if it could be called that, had been short and vicious. Liam rarely got involved in fist fights, but that didn't mean he was incapable._

Sean's hand went to the corner of his mouth, wincing as he ran is tongue over the stitches inside his cheek. If he had been thinking clearly, he wouldn't have lashed out at his brother. He would have remembered that his big brother had two black belts, one in Akido and another in Karate.

He bowed his head and gave all the responses during the prayers as did everybody else attending the Mass. Soon they would be watching their baby sister being lowered into the cold ground and he couldn't stop the tear that trailed down his cheek.

He was going to have to have words with Liam or they would lose Fiona, too. He knew how much guilt she was holding onto. He had heard her weeping confession to their big brother, how she blamed herself for Claire storming out of the house, explaining that she hadn't meant any of the nasty things she had said.

_Liam had shaken her so hard, he had been surprised that his sister's head hadn't come off. But then th__e eldest had sat down, pulling her down next to him._

"_Ya did nuttin' wrong... It's true I asked ya ta watch over har... I tol' ya both how feelin's war runnin' high cuz o' tha increased patrols, but she left wit' out tellin' ya. Ya dinnae fire tha shot, an' ya war'nt tha one who let har lie on tha street. Thot wa' all on tha Brits... Now, stop all yar nonsense... Ya got me?" He'd kissed the top of her head and rubbed a thumb over one tear stained cheek. _

_She had looked up at Liam. "Ya'll let me do it? Ya'll let me kill 'em? I won' be left out, ya hear me?"_

Sean stepped forward with his brothers as the service came to an end. He felt a hollow pit growing in his stomach as he thought about what was to come.

The thought of placing Claire into the ground was almost too much to bear.

()()

_A am chun slán a fhágáil_ means A time to say goodbye.


	4. Rith leis an slua mícheart

**_Disclaimer: Still not ours, though we can dream._  
**

**VICTIMS of WAR**

**A/N:** First we want to say a huge thank you to everyone for continuing to read and review our first joint story. We_ really_ appreciate all of your comments and the support you've shown. A special thanks goes out to the wonderful Amanda Hawthorn for lending her enthusiasm and BETA skills to this effort, and of course we send out much love to all the PCC, and all the Burner girls on FB and Twitter, _YOU ALL ROCK! _Lastly just another reminder that this is a dark tale of revenge, which will become much darker as the search for the killer of Claire Glenanne begins.

_Thanks again for all your support! Burn Notice is back on Thursday 6__th__ of June... Make sure the padded cell is cleaned out, the Valium is stockpiled and you have music to soothe your emotions on standby._

_Now on to the story._

** Rith leis an slua mícheart**

**Belfast January 1996**

"_Now's not tha right time... Yer ta sit tight 'til I tell ya otherwise... D'ya hear me, Fiona?"_

As Liam's words echoed through her head, Ms Glenanne jerked the zipper up on her thick padded jacket and lifted her long hair over the collar.

"_Ya have two choices while am gone, ya kin stay har wit' Jeannie, or ya can go back ta Dublin an' keep Mammy company."_

Her lip curled in disdain. What he had really been saying was she had a choice of babysitters. She could go back to Dublin and join Seamus's wife Isabelle in assisting Maeve Glenanne in the mammoth task of cleaning every inch of the seven bedroom Georgian style mansion house or she could stay in Belfast and be under the constant surveillance of her brother's "friend".

She opened the drawer on her dressing table and drew out a large roll of cash. Just before Liam had left for London with Sean, her oldest brother had ordered Seamus to remove every gun, every box of ammunition and every last piece of explosive out of the house and take it all back to one of his own weapons stores in the south.

"_It's just a precaution. I wan' tha house clean in case tha police come callin' while I'm away... An' I don't wan' anybody gettin' any ideas about branchin' out on thar own."_

He'd locked his icy cold gaze on her until she'd dropped her challenging stare. He'd wanted her to go back to Dublin and sit at home, look after their Mam and behave like a dutiful daughter and an obedient little sister. Like Claire would have done without having to be asked.

But she wasn't a dutiful daughter or an innocent little sister. She was vengeance personified. She was filled with righteous anger and she was sick of waiting to be given a target. She had helped them ambush the soldiers who had killed her oldest brother when she was a teenager and she was not going to sit on her hands any longer waiting to avenge her younger sister.

_If Liam won' go after tha men thot killed Claire... If he wa' gonna ta put tha sacred commands o' tha PIRA council above takin' retribution... Then I'll do it meself, if I have ta kill every soldier I see on tha street ta do it. _... _Seamus Glenanne ain't tha only man who sells guns in tha whole o' Ireland__._

Stuffing the cash into her jacket pocket, she left her bedroom and stormed down the wooden steps. It had been a very long time since she had gone out at night in Belfast on her own, but this was a necessary journey which nobody else could know about. The guilt over her part in Claire's death had lit a fiery wrath in Fiona that nothing but blood would quench and the longer she was made to wait, the hotter it burned.

It had taken her two weeks to find somebody willing to sell Liam Glenanne's little sister sufficient arms for her one woman war. Having Jeannie Donahue following her around like her own personal gaoler hadn't made things easy either. The woman was like a damned bloodhound, tracking her down every time she tried to sneak away for a private conversation.

It had taken a chance meeting in a dark corner of a crowded city center night club with a dark haired, smiling man who showed no fear of the Glenanne name to put her plans for a bloody revenge in motion.

Thomas O'Neill hated the British and every Protestant in Northern Ireland with a burning passion she had never seen matched. He had exactly what she needed in the way of guns and explosives and he was even offering to give her a helping hand in seeking revenge for her sister's death. All she had to do was get out of the house and make sure Liam's bloodhound of a girlfriend didn't try to follow them.

As if on cue, Jeannie appeared at the living room door.

"Are ya off out then?" the blonde asked as she leaned against the door frame.

"I'm goin' ta see Mary O'Connor," Fiona lied easily.

"At this time o' night?" Jeannie looked at her watch. "It's nearly eight an' it's pitch black out thar. Give har a call an' tell har ya'll see har tomorrow."

"It's _only_ eight o'clock, an' regardless of how all o' ya treat me, I'm a grown woman. Yer not givin' me a curfew." Fiona bristled at the being told what to do.

"Don't be such a -"

"Look, if yer thot worried about me walkin' down a well lit street, gimme fifteen minutes ta get thar an' then give us a ring." _Fifteen minutes was all she was going to need. Tommy O'Neill was waiting less than five minutes away. They would be on their way to collect his guns before Jeannie knew she wasn't at the O'Connors._

Not waiting for an answer, Fiona opened the front door and walked away as fast as she could on to the Falls Road towards a silver colored car which was parked next to the curb waiting for her. Opening the passenger door, she quickly slipped inside and grinned at the man behind the wheel.

"Ya managed ta sneak away then, sweetheart?" Tommy O'Neill grinned back at her, his eyes bright and shining.

"Yes, now let's get goin'." She glanced behind looking through the rear window, expecting to see Jeannie Donahue chasing after her at any moment.

"Aw, don't worry yarself. I'll look after ya." He laughed at her nervousness and pulled away from the curb. "I've gotta friend in Andersontown; he'll sell us all we'll need. Then I thought we'd go try out tha guns on tha first patrol we come across... Wha' d'ya say? Fancy taking down some o' tha scum thot killed yar babby sister?"

His smile was infectious and she lost all of her fears and joined him in his enthusiasm for a night of bloody mayhem. When his hand reached up and pulled her in for a kiss, she didn't resist. Instead her own hand came up, her fingers combing through his hair and scraping over his scalp to hold him to the embrace. They only broke apart when O'Neill had to negotiate a tight turn in the road.

It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It was so refreshing to be in the company of somebody who thought the same way she did. O'Neill wasn't holding her back the way her brothers did. He didn't treat her like a child, demanding she sit in the corner twiddling her thumbs while there was work to be done.

"Here." He handed her a half bottle of whisky. "Get ya laughing gear round thot. We're gonna have us some fun tonight." He drummed a tune on the steering wheel with glee.

She untwisted the cap and swallowed down the cheap spirits, enjoying the burn of the alcohol sliding down her throat. Handing it back to him, she watched him take a long gulp before he returned it to her grasp.

"C'mon, sweetheart, sup up," he ordered when she didn't take a second mouthful. "Yer not wit yar brudders now... Yer wit me an' I like ta have fun." His hand gripped high up on her thigh, squeezing her leg. "Ya gotta learn ta let go more, luv."

She thought briefly about punching him in the throat as his hand traveled higher still, but instead she grinned broadly and took another long sip from the bottle, choking a little when O'Neill tried to encourage her to take more by tilting the bottom of the bottle. The man worked fast, she'd give him that. He would take some watching, but Tommy O'Neil could turn out to be just what she needed and nothing was going to stop her from getting her revenge.

"Drink it down, sweetheart. It'll keep ya warm on dis cold night."

_**()()**_

Liam Glenanne entered his home as quietly as possible. It was just after eleven pm and the place was in darkness, which made him think either everybody was in bed or they were out. Closing the door, he noted there were no warning beeps from the house alarm which meant it hadn't been switched on. That disturbed him, but it had been a very long day and he was too tired to give it much thought.

It was then he heard a faint noise coming from the living room. Leaving his suitcase next to the stairs, he cautiously pushed opened the door. The room was in darkness except for the shimmering light coming from the telly, which was switched on with the sound on low. It was then he spotted Jeannie asleep in one of the armchairs.

"Hello, sweetheart." He walked into the room, switching on the light as he came through the door. The sound of his voice startled her awake. "I dinnae think ta find ya waitin' up fer me."

"I -" She looked at him through wide eyes and jumped to her feet and into his arms. "Thank God yer back," she breathed into his chest as her arms lifted up to wrap round his neck while she pressed up against him.

"Aye, fer a little while at least." He tilted her chin up to kiss her lips before stepping back. "Make us a cuppa, love, an' maybe a sandwich. It wa' a bitch o' a crossing, I shoulda waited 'til tomorra an' I coulda flown back."

He shrugged off his coat and let it fall onto the back of the couch and then slumped wearily down in the armchair recently vacated by Jeannie.

She reached into her dressing gown pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. If he had been looking closer, he would have seen the worry in her expression. But he was too busy kicking off his shoes and getting comfortable. The journey across the Irish Sea in a small fishing boat had been long and the sea very rough. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to relax and enjoy a home-made meal.

"I've not got much in. D'ya want ham or cheese?" she asked as she lit up her cigarette.

"Ham, an' have ya got any o' those little tomatoes an' maybe some pickle?"

"Sure," she answered tiredly, as she drew in a second lungful of nicotine.

Liam watched her leave the room and then rested his head back and closed his eyes. The last two weeks had been one big round of meetings and, all the while he was dealing with official PIRA business, he had been trying to keep an eye on his grieving family.

Luckily, Seamus and Colin both knew how to follow orders. Besides they'd both had work to do. Not all Seamus's gun running activities were funded by the Cause. He had his own lucrative trade in arms throughout Europe and the Middle East. He also had a large family which took up any free time he had left.

Colin was never a problem and, at the moment, he was busy trying to track down the men who killed Claire. Liam was hoping that when he saw his sibling in the morning, the family computer expert would have some good news for him. No, these two brothers were easy to manage.

It was the younger members of the family who were causing him the most concern. Sean was a hot head and had not been his first choice for running the upcoming bombing campaign. But the executive council had dismissed his concerns. They wanted to give the youngest Glenanne male a chance to prove himself. If he did well, he would be put forward to become an unit leader. It would be good, they said, to have another Glenanne out there running things. He hadn't been so sure, so he'd put everything else on hold while he'd travelled over the Irish Sea with Sean to make sure his little brother knew exactly what he had to do.

When he'd left home, Fiona had still been spending most of her time brooding in her room. The girl had refused to return to Dublin and their mother had thought it best to let her stay in Belfast, away from all the memories of Claire back at their family home. The last time he had seen her, she had demanded to know why he was going off, holding Sean's hand, when he should be getting her the name and the location of the man who killed their sister. But she had still been teary-eyed and over emotional. He was hoping she was going to be in a better frame of mind by now. Hysterical women were not his thing. He had no idea how to deal with them and they had no place being allowed near guns.

He sat up sharply. Thinking about his little sister reminded him that Jeannie had never sat up waiting for him to come home before. _So who had she been waiting for? _

"Jeannie, whar's Fiona?"

"She went out." The blonde came back into the living room with a small plate of sandwiches in one hand and a large steaming mug of tea in the other.

"Ya let har go out?" Liam growled. _Whot wa' wrong wit' tha women in this family? Dinnae any o' tham know how ta follow a simple command? _

"She lied ta me. She said she wa' goin' ta see tha O'Connor girl. But by tha time I worked out she wa' lying, she wa' long gone." She handed him the food and drink and sat down on the couch, then with a heartfelt sigh she told him the rest. "She changed after ya left. I tried ta tell ya. She's been down at tha pub every night, mouthin' off about wha' she wa' gonna do ta tha first patrol she came across an' how we should be bombing tha lot o' em outta Ireland."

Liam bit into the sandwich and while he chewed he waited for Jeannie to carry on. But she suddenly seemed to be lost for words.

"Well?" he prompted gruffly when she remained mute.

_When Jeannie had called him on his third day at the London safe house to tell him Fiona was out getting drunk, he had brushed it off, thinking that it was probably what the girl needed to do to get over their loss._

"Then, a coupla nights ago, we wa' in Brady's nightclub an' I caught har in a corner talkin' wit Tommy O'Neill."

_Sean had tried to warn him that their little sister needed watching, but he had thought he knew better and now she was out with one of the PIRA's biggest troublemakers. _

"O'Neill?! An' ya dinnae t'ink ta stop har?" He knocked the mug of tea onto the floor as he got to his feet. "Wha' war ya t'inkin' woman? Thot little bastid is out ta make a name fer himself an' ya jus' let Fi go off wit' ham?"

She went pale and watched with wide eyes as he crossed the room to where the house phone sat on a low table. Snatching up the handset, he threw her another scathing look before he turned his attention to the call he was making. Jeannie busied herself with cleaning up the spilled tea whilst keeping her head down.

"Jack – I know it's late, but I need a favor. I wan' ta know whar ta find Tommy O'Neill."

"_O'Neill? Jayzuz, Liam, d'ya not know whot tha time is?"_

"I said I know it's late, Jack. Can ya help me out or no?"

"_Whot's he done ta get on yar bad side? Las' I heard he wa' goin' over ta Spain ta be wit' his sister."_

"Well, he's not gone yet... I just wan' ta know whar ta find ham. He's out wit' me lil sister."

"_Aye, she's been attractin' quite a bit o' attention... D'ya want any help gettin' har back home?"_

"No, I can handle tha pair o' tham me self... I wan' ta keep it quiet."

"_Hold on fer a minute or two an' I'll ring round, an' see whot I can find out fer ya._"

He waited, grounding his knuckles against the patterned wallpaper while Jack Tracey, a local bicycle shop owner who was definitely a man in the know around Belfast and happened to owe him a couple of favors, went to make some calls for him.

Liam could have made the calls himself, as there were very few people who would deliberately hide information from him. But he knew if he started asking questions about O'Neill, the word would soon reach the young thug that he was in big trouble and he'd have time to go into hiding... No, he wanted to surprise the pair. O'Neill would learn to stay away from the Glenannes and Fiona would learn to do as she was told.

"Liam, sweetheart, she's hurtin'... Tha weight o' it is killin' har and she wants revenge. O'Neill is jus' feedin' off it." Jeannie took hold of his arm, turning him to face her, her other hand reaching up to stroke her fingertips along his cheek and jaw, trying to calm him down.

"Aye, an' if ya couldnae manage har, ya shoulda sent har home ta our Mammy." He jerked away from her as Jack Tracey finally came back onto the line.

"_Thar over in Andersontown, buying guns fram Michael Doyle."_

"Thanks, Jack." He abruptly ended the call. Dropping the handset back down onto the table, he took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. "I'm sorry, love, I shouldnae've shouted at ya."

Jeannie nodded and took a tentative step closer to him. "It's alright. I know yer worried abou' har."

"Aye, well, I'm about ta give tha bastid O'Neill sommit ta worry abou'."

_**()()**_

"So, whot d'ya think? Am I a man o' me word, sweetheart?" O'Neill wrapped his arms around Fiona's waist, pulling her in tight against his body as he breathed in the scent of her hair and nibbled on her ear.

They were standing at the entrance of an alleyway, watching the main road out of Andersontown heading towards Belfast city center, waiting for an army patrol to pass on its way back to the barracks, waiting for an opportunity to try out the two Mac 10 automatic weapons Michael Doyle had sold them an hour earlier.

"Thot ya are, Tommy." Fiona tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but her partner in crime appeared to be all hands. As fast as she fended off one from snaking around her waist, the other would be reach around to fondle her behind and when she removed that one, the first one would be back again, sliding around her shoulders edging towards the zipper on her jacket.

She wasn't used to this sort of attention from a man. Armand had, for all his faults, always been a gentleman. He had courted her in an old fashioned manner, actually approaching her brothers and seeking their permission before asking her out on a first date. Before him she'd had only one other boyfriend and he hadn't lasted long in the face of Liam's cold eyed stares and Sean's threats of violence if his sister was ever made unhappy. She'd never even gotten the chance to really get to know the man she had fancied all through her years at Queens College in Belfast and there had been no chance of it after her graduation party...

And once she was feeling better and was back on her feet after that dreadful night, any other man who dared attempt to lay unwanted hands on her would quickly end up unconscious and bleeding, but she could hardly do that to Thomas O'Neill if she wanted to keep him supplying her with weapons and explosives. Besides, he was the only one who was offering her any help in her quest for revenge.

"C'mon, love, I got ya tha guns ya wanted. How about ya showin' me a little gratitude?" He pinned her against the dark alley wall, using his bodyweight to keep her still as he lay kisses along her neck.

"T-" Words failed her as suddenly the half drunk man was dragged off her. His body was thrown hard against the opposite wall before the figure holding him punched him between the eyes, which caused O'Neill's lifeless form to fall to the ground.

Fiona stared in shock at her oldest brother and then her head was rocked to one side by a vicious backhanded slap that landed on the side of her face. The gun she was holding was ripped from her hand and then she found herself being force marched along to the other end of the alley by a hand gripping the back of her jacket.

"Get in tha car an' wait fer me." She had never heard her brother sound so angry and she obeyed without question. Daring to look back, she saw her brother pick up O'Neill's limp body and bring him to the car.

With the young man in the trunk, Liam got behind the wheel of his car and drove off heading out onto the back roads leading out of Andersontown and into the countryside surrounding the foothills of Colin Mountain.

"Whar are we goin'?" she asked, her fears growing as they drove north into the relative wilderness of the snow covered mountains. But she got no answer. The only sign she got that Liam even heard her was the slight tightening of his jaw.

Eventually he turned off the road and brought his car to a stop outside of a deserted workshop. He got out without speaking, his footsteps crunching on the frozen ground as he dragged O'Neill who was still dazed out of the trunk and into the building.

Fiona followed behind, the fear of what her brother was about to do and the adrenaline that the fear had produced had cleared the cheap alcohol out from her bloodstream and she trembled as she remembered all the tales she had heard about her big brother and what he did for the PIRA.

Stepping inside the derelict workshop, she discovered Liam had tied her date to an old wooden chair and was leaning against one of the buildings support struts waiting for his prisoner to regain consciousness.

"Whot are ya gonna do, Liam? Nuttin' happened." Fiona stood in front of her eldest brother, but he continued to ignore her as he patiently watched and waited. She had just met Thomas O'Neill. She couldn't bear it if she got him killed for the sin of assisting her in her plans for retribution.

"Damn ya, Liam, answer me!" she shrieked and raised a fist, which he grabbed and held on to tightly until she cried out in pain. When he let go, he appeared to barely notice how his little sister clutched at her wrist.

Finally, O'Neill stirred and came round enough to realize how much trouble he was in. He stared wide eyed at Liam Glenanne, who looked back at him through icy emotionless eyes.

"I seem ta be havin' some communication problems," Liam spoke softly, his tone conversational, as if he was just passing the time of day with a couple of friends. "I tell people ta do one t'ing an' they go off an' do sommit completely different." Then his tone changed, hardening and filling with menace. "An' then I've got other people who see me own family ignorin' me orders and they start ta t'ink they can disrespect me, too."

He walked slowly over to stand in front of O'Neill and, as he walked, he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a steel headed hammer. He looked from Fiona to Thomas O'Neill, letting them both get a good look at his cold remorseless expression.

"Liam, don't do this. Don't, please, it wa' me... I got sick o' waitin'. Blame me...don't do this." Fiona made a grab for the hammer, but Liam pushed her away and she fell against an old work bench.

"I lost one sister, am not about ta lose another." He glared at her fiercely. "Especially not ta tha likes o' him," Liam snarled as he turned his attention to the bound man before him.

Fiona cringed and looked away as her brother swung the hammer. There was a sickening thud and a groan. When she looked up, O'Neill was slumped in the chair, his jacket front covered in red and more blood bubbled out of his torn mouth and from between his broken teeth.

"If I see ya round me sister again, I'll make sure ya choke on whot's left off yar teeth, ya get me, boy?"

O'Neill looked up, spitting out a mouthful of blood and bits of teeth. He was having troubling focusing his eyes, but somehow he managed to fix his gaze on Fiona. He saw the fear and concern in her eyes and it warmed his heart.

"Fiona, go get in tha car," Liam ordered, not liking the way O'Neill was still defying him by looking at his sister.

"Whot are ya gonna do ta him?" she spoke softly with a tremor in her voice. _This was her fault..._

Liam blinked and stepped in close, using the beaten man's hair to lift his head. "Ya'll get outta Ireland, lad, if ya know whot's good fer ya."

He cut the restrains holding O'Neill to the chair. "Yar friend Doyle is gonna be lookin' fer ya, once he's back on his feet." The senior Glenanne advised the figure slumped at his feet. "He jus' fell down a set a stairs. I t'ink he broke both his legs in tha fall and he jus' lost all his stock ta a nasty fire."

_**()**_

The journey home in the car was quiet. Liam was in no mood to converse and Fiona couldn't stop the tremors which ran through her small frame. Sober now, she was trying to come to terms with seeing the head of the family in a new light.

He had always been her serious-minded big brother, who admittedly had a few control issues, but those issues had always been directed at the male side of the family. He expected things to be done in a certain way, to be done how and when he said, and he micro-managed every decision made by the family.

However, if she was being honest with herself, she would have to own up to the fact that, just like Claire, she was used to getting her own way where Liam was concerned. She'd had no problem talking him into letting her go to university in Belfast and she had easily convinced him she could be a big help to Seamus in his gunrunning business, explaining that her fluency in several languages would be a of great value in negotiations. She had even talked him into letting her work jobs for the PIRA with Sean, both before going away with Armand and after once she'd returned home, leaving Armand in Serbia.

But now, for the first time in her life, she had been on the receiving end of his anger and been given a sharp reminder that he _was_ the head of the family and was most _definitely_ the one in charge. Sniffing, she huddled down into the deep leather car seat. Up to now, she'd only believed half of the tales she'd heard about her brother, but this man in the car with her... _this man_ might just be capable of doing _everything_ she'd heard.

When they pulled up outside their home, Liam caught hold of her arm, stopping her from getting out.

"Ya get ta yar room an' ya stay thar til I tell ya ya can leave... Don' make me repeat meself."

She nodded and ran inside, ignoring the look of concern on Jeannie's face. She heard the older woman questioning Liam as he came inside the house.

"Whot happened? Whot d'ya do ta tha poor girl?"

"Nuttin' she dinnae deserve," came the gruff reply.

_**()()**_

Fiona lay face down on her bed, her head buried into her pillow as she tried to come to terms to her brother's reaction to her act of rebellion. As the shock wore off, she could feel her own anger beginning to grow at the injustice of it all. She sat up and wiped away the tears that were threatening to fall.

"_How dare he!" _She sat hugging herself, her mind re-running the evenings events. A shudder went through her body as she was reminded of Liam's expression when he came across her and Thomas O'Neill in the alley. Another wave of a very different kind of guilt swept through her then.

"_He hates me."_ She sniffed and wiped at her eyes again. _"I let 'em all down."_

She was racked with a mix of conflicting emotions. She was mortified about being discovered allowing Thomas O'Neill to paw at her body. _If Liam made har go home, thar Mammy would want ta know why she'd been sent back in disgrace. _She gulped at the thought of how that particular conversation would go.

But the shame was vying with her indignation at being dragged home like some errant child. A year ago, she had been making a deals with oil company executives to supply their security personnel with the best in automatic weaponry and, just nine months ago, she'd had Serbian warlords hanging off her every word.

Now she was sitting in her room because her big brother ordered her to stay there until he called her down to account for her actions. _Why was a confident, composed woman of the world acting like a jittery school girl? _ Fiona let out a bitter laugh as the answer came to her immediately... _Because her family had been treating her like she was the naïve hot headed tomboy she had been before she'd left home and now that she was back in the bosom of her family, she had been subconsciously conforming to their expectations._

Her Glenanne pride urged her to tell Liam to stick his orders up his arse. If he wouldn't go out to find Claire's murderer, she would damn well do it herself. But her equally strong streak of honor reminded her that going against her family was the worst thing she could ever do. But she couldn't let her sister's death go unavenged, day after day, she just couldn't bear it. _She had to take action!_

After spending a sleepless night in her room, she had come to the conclusion she was going to have to mind her manners and to try to make amends with Liam. Regardless of the way she felt about how her family was treating her, she _was _with her family now and she needed to work with them.

She was fairly certain when he ordered her to stay in her room he hadn't meant to deny her access to the bathroom. But even so she hesitated at her door before crossing the hall. She returned to her room after a quick shower and sat down on her bed to dry her hair while listening the noises of the rest of the house occupants finally rising.

She heard the toilet flush and then a creak on the stairs as Jeannie went down to the kitchen and then kettle beginning to boil and, a little while later, the sounds of plates being laid on the table. Then she caught the muttered morning greetings and the heavy step of her brothers leaving their bedrooms to go downstairs to the cooked breakfast waiting for them on the table.

The smell of freshly prepared bacon and eggs made Fiona's stomach rumble, but as much as she would have liked to go down for a hearty meal with her family, she remained upstairs. She was going to have to do some major bridge building with Liam before she risked disobeying another one of his orders.

However, after an hour, she heard the dishwasher being switched on and then the front door slam as Jeannie went out to restock the cupboards and refrigerator now that Liam was home. Fiona knew that once her brothers had the house to themselves, Colin would spill whatever information he had been able to gather on the army patrol during Liam's absence.

She left her room and hung as far out over the bannister as she could, thankful that nobody had bothered to shut the door to the kitchen.

It was a risk. If Liam caught her disobeying him so soon after he gave her a brutal demonstration of his anger, she would be shipped back to Dublin probably in the trunk of her brother's car. But she needed to know for sure that Colin had been working on the identity of Claire's killers.

"We couldnae break through tha Ministry of Defence security ta get at tha military database." She heard Colin admit. "But then I remembered sommit, an' we went out an' traced tha route tha patrol must'a taken."

"Tell me ya dinnae walk all round tha Divis estate talkin' ta every one on tha route... If ya -" Liam still sounded pissed. There was a sarcastic lilt in his tone.

"I dinnae talk ta anybody on tha route," Colin answered him back in the same tone. "I only talked ta one man: Robbie Gallagher, o' Gallagher Motor Sales..." He paused for dramatic effect.

Fiona clung onto the rail tightly as she strained to hear what Colin had to say.

"I remembered Gallagher wa' havin' trouble las' year wit' kids breakin' inta his cars. An' he gotta friend o' mine to put up some hidden cameras... We war lucky tha army dinnae know they war thar so they couldnae confiscate tha film."

There was another pause and Fiona was becoming more frustrated by the second as she wondered what her brothers were doing.

"I know it's not a name -" Colin apologized.

"No, it's good work, Colin." Liam actually sounded happy. "_Really_ good work. Ya know whot ya gotta do now, brudder?"

"Yeah, yer sendin' me off ta Amsterdam."

"Thot I am, an' as much as ya gonna hate it." She could hear the smile in her brother's voice. "I want ya ta stay thar 'til I say it's safe ta come back."

"I'll go pack, an' go see abou' bookin' tha flight." The younger man sounded equally pleased with his orders.

Fiona quickly rushed back into her room as Colin came bounding up the stairs. Liam had something on the men who killed Claire and it was clear he'd already put a plan in place, as he was sending Colin out of the country.

"_How could he?!" _She felt her skin flush as pure unadulterated rage coursed through her veins. _"He wa' gonna take care o' it all by his self. He's tryin' ta cut me out... An' I've handed him tha perfect excuse ta do it, ta lock me away in Dublin!_" Fiona couldn't decide who she was angrier with, herself or her high handed eldest brother.

She swung her arm and sent the mirror and little ornaments which sat on her dresser flying across the room. She stood in the center of her room breathing through her nose as her fingers flexed into fists.

"Fi? Fiona? Ya alright in thar, girl?"

Hearing her brother outside her bedroom door brought a snarl to her lips. _How long had he known who she was lookin' fer an' he'd kept it all ta hisself 'til Liam got back... He shoulda told me!_ She bent forward and picked a shoe up from the floor and hurled it at the door.

"Piss off Colin, I'm fine... Go enjoy yar holiday!"

She waited, listening to Colin's retreating footsteps as he went down the stairs and then the bang of the front door as he went out, no doubt to book his stay in the vice capital of Europe.

_**()()**_

Liam heard the crash upstairs and then his sister shrieking insults at their sibling and smiled. There were a lot of men who would have still been cowering in silence after being threatened by him. But not his little sister. Fiona Cairan Glenanne was ready to rip the head off anybody who angered her.

He liked her spirit, but that didn't change the fact she had openly disobeyed him and taken up with the likes of Thomas O'Neill. He tapped his index finger on the photograph Colin had handed him.

It was one of ten grainy pictures taken off the footage from a CCTV camera of the patrol which had killed Claire, but it was the only one with a clearly identifiable face. A young infantry captain, the man who should have maintained better control over his men. He tapped the picture again, his finger tip landing right between the captain's eyes. _This wa' whot happened when ya let discipline slip. One tiny bit o' insubordination an' befer ya knew whot wa' happenin', all hell's broken loose._

"I'm off out ta book me flight," Colin called out as he ran out of the house.

Liam smiled, at least one of his siblings was happy about his _"get outta tha country, an' stay out til I say otherwise"_ order. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and listened to the sounds of his sister clearing up whatever mess she had made during her latest temper tantrum.

Seamus had cussed him out for a full five minutes before agreeing to taking his entire family and their mother for a long holiday at the Sharm el Sheik tourist resort in Egypt. His gunrunning brother had only been mollified by the news that, while his mother, wife and children enjoyed the comforts of the luxurious facilities of the five star hotel complex, he would be out making new contacts in the Middle East.

Liam picked up the photograph of the captain off the table and slipped it into his shirt pocket. The shooting had taken place twenty days ago. There was a good chance the whole patrol had been sent back to the UK or posted to another part of the world. But there was also a slim chance because they thought they had protected the soldiers identities that the MoD might have decided to keep them in Ireland. _I'm gonna have ta find somebody who can tek a look around tha barracks fer me. _

Picking up his jacket, he stopped besides the staircase. Looking at his watch he frowned as he tried to decide what to do. He didn't trust Fiona to stay in the house on her own. The girl needed to be kept on a short leash until he was sure she had learnt her lesson. A sharp stab of anger flared as he flashed back to her in the alleyway, making out with Thomas O'Neill. _He wa' gonna have ta make sure she stayed well clear o' thot one._

With a huff of frustration, he realized he couldn't leave until Colin came back home. Jeannie was going to be gone all day, busy setting up her own bolt hole for when the soldiers would come looking for revenge for the death of one of their own.

_**()()**_

Fiona heard the bang of the front door closing which signalled Colin had left the house, and knew that this was her best chance of making peace with Liam. He would be far more receptive to listening to her explanation for her actions if there was nobody else around to see anything that could be perceived as weakness on his part. At least that was what she hoped. Because she was beginning to think she didn't know her oldest brother as well as she thought.

Walking down the wooden staircase, she reached the bottom knowing he must have heard her descent. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the living room and found him lounging in his favorite armchair with his legs stretched out in front of the fire reading a newspaper.

She stood there, in the center of the room like an awkward schoolgirl waiting in front of the headmaster while he ignored her as he calmly turned the page of the paper without even glancing up at her.

She had been worried about his pride being a stumbling block, but all of a sudden she was the one seeing red. _After all, whot had she done thot wa' so wrong? She wa' twenty five years old. She didnae need Liam's permission ta meet up wit a man an' at least O'Neill had been helping har take revenge._

"I hear ya sendin' Colin off on a holiday." she spoke softly, trying to hide both her nervousness and her irritation. "Does thot mean he's found tha name we're after?"

Liam huffed and took his own sweet time folding the newspaper and smoothing out the creases before putting it down the side of his chair. He slowly looked her up and down, as if she was something off the bottom of his shoe, and she bit down on the inside of her lip to stop the words that wanted to pour forth.

"It's none o' ya concern, now is it? Yar sister is not even cold in har grave an' I find ya down a back street wit' Thomas O'Neill."

"We wa' about -" she began hotly, no longer able to contain her anger.

"I know whot ya wa' about ta do," he growled. Getting to his feet, he towered over her. "Jeannie said I should give ya a chance ta explain yarself. Thot ya war hurtin', an' cuz I left ya wit' nuttin' ta do, ya spent too much time broodin'."

"Ya cut me out completely!" she accused scathingly. "An' ya gave me a choice o' babbysitters! I'm not a child, Liam. Dinnae I help ya get tha men tha' killed our big brudder? I'm as good as Sean, an' ya cannae deny it... I faced down a bloody SAS unit fer ya, an' I wa' fourteen years old." All her hurt came tumbling out as she berated him. Stepping back abruptly, she turned her back to stare out of the window. "Ya promised me ya wouldnae cut me out, thot I'd be tha one ta take care o' tha bastid who killed har, but ya go swannin' off wit' Sean -"

"An' dis is why ya need a babbysitter." He grabbed her shoulder and spun her back round to face him. "Thar's more goin' on tha whot ya want... D'ya t'ink me or Sean can jus' tell tha' executive council ta put tha're plans on hold fer us?"

She dropped her head breaking eye contact. She _had_ thought about that, but she hadn't cared about it at all. In her quest for vengeance, she had dismissed the fact that Liam might be the head of the Glenanne family, but outside in the world there were men who gave _him_ orders, men who didn't take 'no' or 'later' for an answer.

"Am sorry," she murmured and slipped out of his grip. "Am sorry – I warn't thinkin'... I'll do as ya say... But don't cut me out." She raised her eyes and looked at him, trying to show her contrition. "Please, Liam, I can help... I'm tha best one 'o us wit' a sniper rifle, an' ya know it."

She grinned up at him and was pleased to see the grim look fall from his face and then he stepped closer and drew her into his arms, kissing the top of her head before pulling back and holding out a photograph.

"This is tha man who knows who fired tha shot. But we have nuttin' on ham, no name, no ID tags on tha uniform. We dunno if he's still in Ireland... So, whot would ya do to find ham?"

Fiona looked at the photograph, studying the enemy's face, committing his features to her memory. All the while she was trying to come up with some way to track him down. If Colin couldn't do it electronically, there was really only one other way and that was to walk into the barracks and check out all the buildings and homes or rather find somebody who could do the searching for them.

She frowned and glanced up at Liam to catch him staring intently back at her, waiting to see if she really was an operative worthy of being given the important job of pulling the trigger on Claire's killer. She felt a cold shiver run up her spine as only one name came to mind.

"Mary Anne McIntyre," she spoke clearly, though saying the name left a bad taste in her mouth.

"McIntyre?" Liam echoed in a cold flat tone. He remembered the surname; it was the name of the piece of scum who had raped Fiona five years earlier. A piece of scum who could no longer be called a man, who he had personally made sure would never be a threat to anybody again.

"Mary Anne wa' in har first year at Queen's when I graduated... She hadda job working at the Normerton Barracks in tha Officer's mess. She wa' never supposed ta talk about it, but I remember har boastin' ta har friends about how she wa' gonna find harself a rich officer an get married an' have a big fancy house in England. I cannae remember whot she wa' studying, but she could still be workin' at tha' barracks... It's supposed ta be good money."

He took hold of her again, gently cupping her shoulders his face filled with compassion. "Are ya sure ya wan' ta do this? I can do this on me own."

She shook her head staring him in the eye. "I meant whot I said. Ya don't need ta treat me like glass... I can handle meself. Derek McIntyre is dead an' gone. He's no more threat ta me, right? Ya killed ham fer whot he did. An' I could tek Mary Anne apart wit' one hand tied behind me back."

He patted her shoulders and then dropped his hands to his sides. "Okay, I'll let ya come along. But no more tryin' ta do t'ings ya own way. Ya mind me fram now on."

"I promise ta behave," she replied firmly.

_**()()**_

Queen's University didn't open it's doors to students for another week, so they drove across the city to an affluent area on the East side of Belfast and parked up on a tree lined street . "If she's home an' she's working, she'll be leaving home soon." Liam sat back in his seat getting comfortable for a long wait.

"Whot if she left early? Or -"

"Let's try dis first, I don't wanta be breakin' down front doors an' tekin' hostages – at least not yet." The youngest two of the family were really going to have to learn a thing or two about patience and surveillance. "Relax, they'll be plenty a time fer action later."

He rested his head back against the headrest, staring out of the wind shield, but also keeping an eye on the rear view mirror. This wasn't exactly a hardcore loyalist territory. The people here were too wealthy to get their hands in the dirt, but that didn't mean it was safe for them to be in the area.

While they waited, he couldn't help but remember the night his Aunt Claire had come up to his side and whispered in his ear that they had a situation that needed dealing with. Fiona was too drunk to carry on and her young man had gotten himself mugged whilst he was out back having a piss, another victim of excessive alcohol consumption at her graduation party.

He should have known from the minute his father's sister had told him the story that that's all it was... a story concocted to explain the need for the party to end and young Fenton to get immediate medical assistance without attracting unwanted police or Army attention.

_He'd headed to the storeroom, ready to blast the girl for getting drunk at her own party, but instead of that he had found himself facing his favorite aunt. Fionuilla's Glenanne's only daughter was hard as a cut nail and twice as sharp. She had helped his mammy through losing her husband and her eldest son without batting an eye about the fact that she had just lost her brother as well. His baby sister's namesake had buried husbands and children as well as siblings. Nothing shook her, but the look on her face when she'd stopped him from entering the storeroom had almost stopped his heart. _

_Liam had never seen her that angry... ever...though the woman had been given ample reason by the loyalists and the Army alike to be so. She was literally shaking with fury and he felt stupid and sick as he pieced together what must have happened to enrage her so. Aunt Claire's voice shook with justified wrath as she told him how his little sister had been brutally raped and viciously beaten and the boy she'd been with almost killed. _

_He had gone cold then, locking down all his emotions tightly to stop himself flying apart as she'd detailed for him what had happened and who was responsible._

_He remembered handing out orders to send everyone home with the story that Fiona and Fenton were both passed out drunk and that the boy had been mugged in the alley behind the pub. After a quick examination of the youth lying outside with his skull split open, Liam had dispatched a couple of lads to take Mr. O'Connell to the hospital._

_Fiona had refused__ to see or speak to anyone save her aunt. He'd sent Jeannie to collect them quietly and take them to her place followed by an armed escort and then he had taken his brothers and headed off into the night. A couple of Sean's friends had caught up with their target trying to cross through the Peace Gate on Cupar Way and had taken him to an old abandoned pub, holding him there until they had turned up to deal wi__th the animal._

_Fiona had identified him, the Protestant boyfriend of one of her schoolmates at Queens College. During their conversation over the next several hours, her attacker had confessed to the Glenanne boys that he had learned of the party and had decided to make a name himself within the UDF ranks by perpetrating whatever mischief he could manage at the republican celebration. _

_Drunk both on whiskey and self righteous adrenaline, Derek McIntyre had taken the opportunity that had presented itself behind the pub and nearly killed O'Connell with the whiskey bottle and then had turned the weapon and his cruel attentions onto their sister. It was only because their aunt had gone looking for the pair and had stumbled upon the vile attack in progress that he'd fled the scene. _

_They had beaten the loyalist boy to the point of death. His brothers had wanted the youth dead, but Liam had had other ideas. Fiona was going to live with what happened for the rest of her life, so he did what was necessary to make sure McIntyre would never be a threat to another woman again and then dumped him on his family's doorstep._

_They had never told Fiona that her assailant had been allowed to live. Liam had no idea how she would feel about it, but he was happy to know Derek McIntyre was stuck in a half life, unable to move, in constant pain and, unless he caught an infection or some how managed to kill himself, facing a long and agonizing existence._

"Liam..." Fiona gestured with a nod of her head to a small green car leaving the driveway of the McIntyre home.

They followed her as she weaved her way around the back streets traveling away from the barracks and out of the city. Liam came to the conclusion that either she no longer had a job on the army base or she was taking a roundabout route as a precaution. He wasn't that bothered which it was because right at that moment there was no other cars on the road and just ahead there was an entrance to a derelict factory.

It was easy for him to drive up along side and for Fiona to wind down her window and point a sawed off shotgun at the girl behind the wheel. Mary Anne McIntyre's car skidded and swerved as Liam used his car to push hers off the road and Fiona shot out the front tire to make sure she couldn't run.

The girl was terrified, frozen in the car gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white. When he jerked the car door open and dragged her out, she screamed and her legs collapsed under her. He had no choice but to hold her up and throw her up against the back of her car.

"Ya know who I am?" he asked, his hand about her throat forcing her to look him in the eyes.

She blinked, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Yes." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"D'ya know whot happens ta those thot lie ta me?" he barked out his questions. Keeping her scared was the best way to get her utter obedience.

"Y-Yes."

"Ya still work at tha barracks?" He released his hold on her neck, so she could answer him and moved back a step so she could see Fiona standing back holding the shotgun across her chest.

"No, no, sur, I-I work in t-tha -"

"D'ya still have yar pass fer tha base? D'ya still get yar invites ta all tha parties?" There were girls who always got invited to attend the dances on the bases. Girls from good loyalist families, which after they passed all the security checks, would receive invitations to attend the social events on the base to help bolster morale.

She nodded numbly and then paled as he showed her a grainy, poor quality photograph.

"Ya know ham? Ya seen ham about?" He didn't need to hear her affirmative. Her pale expression gave her away. "Ya gonna go onta tha base an' ya get 'im ta come out... Ya tell ham whotever he needs ta hear, but ya bring ham out fer me."

"Please, sur, lemme go. I won't tell anybody, I promise."

Liam stepped back and gestured for Fiona to step in. He knew he had gone too far petrifying an already scared girl.

He took the shotgun from Fiona's hands and then watched over his little sister as she calmed and reassured the girl that, as long as she did exactly what they said, she would soon be home with her family.

"I- I'll go thar t'night," Mary Anne sniffed.

"Get ham ta leave tha base an' meet ya somewhere tomorrow mornin'." Liam removed the shotgun blasted tire and replaced it with the spare while Fiona continued to settle the girl's shattered nerves.

"An' ya'll leave us alone?" she asked.

"Aye, ya do this an' yer'll never hear fram us again... I promise."

They waited for Mary Anne to drive away, and then got back into his car. Starting the engine he drove back over to the Falls Road, but not to his house. Instead he pulled up outside a small neat terrace house in the center of a row of identical properties.

"I wan' ya ta stay wit Jeannie. She knows whar ta go. I've gotta place ya can hideout... When I tek tha soldier boy, all hell is gonna break loose an' I don't want any o' ya dragged in fer questioning." He waited for the explosion, watching his sister's jaw tense.

Finally, she looked at him. "Ya promise ta keep me in tha loop? Thot I'm gonna be tha one ta fire tha shot?"

"I promise, but ya have ta show me yer know how ta follow orders."

"Fine. I'll sit an' twiddle me thumbs... But don't keep me waitin' too long."

"Get away inside, an' behave yaself 'til I tell ya otherwise." He watched as she got out of the car and then leaned across the seat before she slammed the door shut. "Ya did good wit' tha girl."

"Aye...now, ya go an' do some good an' find me someone ta shoot," she answered.

()()()

Rith leis an slua mícheart, means Running with the wrong crowd.


	5. A am do dioltas

_**Disclaimer: Sadly we still don't own Burn Notice. But we will continue to play with the characters.**_

**A/N:** Again we want to say a huge thank you to everyone for continuing to read and review. We_ really_ appreciate all the positive feedback on this our first effort at co-authorship. Another special thanks go out to Amanda Hawthorn for lending her enthusiasm and BETA skills to this effort and, as always, much love to all the Burner girls on FB, Twitter and the PCC! You rock!

Lastly another reminder that this is a tragic tale of a family enmeshed in warfare and violence for decades. In this chapter Fiona's quest for vengeance moves on at a pace, and you'll discover what happened to MI-6 Agent Arthur Meyers brother.

**VICTIMS of WAR.**

**A am do dioltas.**

_**January/February 1996**_

Fiona let herself in through the front door and stepped straight into Jeannie's living room. The strong musty scent of stale tobacco assaulted her nostrils and the sight of the blonde woman kneeling on the lid of an old suitcase, which looked ready to burst as she worked on snapping the clasps closed, greeted her eyes.

"So, ya made up wit ya brudder?" Jeannie puffed as she hauled the suitcase off the couch to stand it on the floor next to two other bulky pieces of matching luggage.

Fiona nodded yes and then inclined her head in a gesture to all the cases, recognizing one of them as her own. "He wants me ta stay wit ya. Ya've got some place fer us ta go?"

Jeannie grinned, stubbed out the remains of her present cigarette into an ashtray and without conscious thought took another from the pack and lit up, drawing in the nicotine in one smooth breath. "Aye, an' if yer here and he's not, I'd say we need ta be goin' sooner rather than later. I take it ya found who ya war lookin' fer?"

Fiona gave the older woman a sharp look. There were subjects that were never discussed outside the circle of the siblings and Jeannie was very close to straying into an area which was none of her business. She felt a small stab of jealousy when she suddenly realized Liam might be telling the blonde more of his plans than he was telling her.

She forced her mouth into a smile, reminding herself that if Liam would actually commit to a relationship and marry the woman who had stood behind him for the last ten years, Jeannie would be the rightful Queen of the Glenanne family.

"Ya take it right," Fiona finally answered and took hold of two of the cases, lifting the heavy weights easily. "So whar ar' we off ta?"

"Tha new house," Jeannie announced, and Fiona dropped the cases in shock.

"Ya have a new house?!"

"Liam bought one. It's a building site at tha moment. But when it's -"

"Liam bought a new house?" Fiona was stunned. "When did he do thot?"

"Jus' befer Christmas. It's in Holywood. Now, come along. We've gotta get outta har. Ya'll see it soon enough. Lemme call us a cab."

They told the taxi driver to take them to the train station on Great Victoria Street and, throughout the journey, they made a point of talking excitedly about their 'holiday' plans. If the taxi driver was ever questioned, he would be able to tell the police how the two women spent the short journey talking of nothing but their plans of traveling around Europe, how they were going to fly over to Paris and from there go by train into Italy and Switzerland and Germany. They chatted loudly, hoping that any policemen or intelligence agents who would come looking for them to bring them in for questioning would waste a lot of time searching for them on the Continent.

Once at the train station, they kept to their cover and got on to a train to take them close to Belfast City Airport. Fiona was itching to know more about what Liam had planned and why he hadn't bothered to mention he was moving away from the Falls Road. But while in public she kept up the ruse of being happy to be going on holiday with her Auntie Jeannie.

At the airport, they went into the toilets and changed their clothes and hid their hair under woolen hats Jeannie had thought to bring along. They stayed in a CCTV blind spot until a large group of travelers came past walking towards the exits and slipped in amongst the crowd.

With a false trail laid for anybody who came hunting for them, they went looking for a car to take them to the safe-house. Keeping her curiosity in check, Fiona left Jeannie waiting by a bus stop with the cases while she went to find a suitable vehicle to 'borrow'. Avoiding the airport car park and the attendant cameras, Fiona hurriedly made her way over to a small industrial estate further along the road and returned shortly afterwards behind the wheel of a plain dark blue Honda Accord she had liberated from outside the offices of a large warehouse.

The drive was a short one, Holywood being barely three miles from the airport. But by staying off the main roads, Fiona managed to avoid any of the security or traffic cameras which may have let the security forces know they hadn't actually left the country.

Even though it was only four in the afternoon, it was already getting dark when Jeannie directed Fiona down a wide well lit street, where all the houses were large detached properties, most of them with high walls and tall security gates.

"Thot's tha one." Jeannie pointed to the only house on the street with boards over the upstairs windows. "Gimme a sec... I've got tha key fob har somewhere." She hunched over as she searched through her handbag, finally coming up with the remote, which caused the brand new gate to silently slide open. "Fancy, huh?"

"Very," Fiona replied dryly as she drove onto the cracked block paved driveway and into a garage attached to the side of the large house.

Carrying the suitcases inside, Fiona took in the shell of the kitchen. Everything had been ripped out and the walls skimmed ready to be tiled. The floor too had been taken down to bare concrete.

"Liam found dis place last year, affer he bought inta Mulhay's funeral business," Jeannie began to explain as she started placing the supplies she had brought on to a small table in the corner of the room. "He wanted somewhar outta tha city but close enough ta keep an eye on t'ings. It won't be so bad, sweetheart. We've gotta a kettle, an' a microwave, an tha fridge works. We should only be har a few days. Lemme finish puttin' tha milk an' other bits in tha fridge an' I'll show ya around."

As Jeannie led the younger woman around the whole house in each room, they checked the curtains were covering the windows before turning on the lights. "Liam brought yar Mammy over fer a visit when he first bought it. She went home and made all tha curtains ya see, an' she's promised ham tha Irish lace table cloth thot used ta be yar Grandma O'Keefe's. Oh an' yar Grandma Fionuilla has promised ham tha big table fram har dining room."

"So, everybody knows except me?" Fiona frowned unable to hide her irritation at being kept out of the loop.

"Lord, no," Jeannie replied. "Colin knows cos, well, he's gonna be living har... Liam wants ta get tha' place ready befer he tells ya all." She patted the younger woman on the arm. "It's a good t'ing sweetheart. Tha' man is nearly forty years old an' he's still livin' in a house belongin' ta his mammy. It's about time he grew up a bit."

"An' whot about you? Ya gonna be livin' har, too?"

"No, no, definitely not." The blonde shook her head and, using her lit cigarette for emphasis, she continued. "I know he's yar brudder an' I love tha man dearly, but I like me own space. I'm thirty six years old, Fiona, an' I have me own little ways. I'm gonna tek over yar old home. By tha time tha police an' army boyos have been through thar, I dare say it'll need redecoratin'. I might even be able ta put in a claim agi'n tha Brit government an' get 'em ta pay fer it all ta be done," she laughed.

_**()()**_

Three days later, Fiona was becoming frantic. She had been stuck with Jeannie in the shell of Liam's new property with only decorating magazines and sample books for carpets, paints and wall paper to stop her going insane.

They had been taking turns sleeping on an old double mattress left in one of the bedrooms, one of them staying awake at all times so somebody was always on watch in case nosy neighbors or the police came to call. When they were both awake, they spent their time planning on how the house should look once it was ready to live in.

But Fiona was sick of washing down surfaces and measuring the dimensions of the rooms so they could plan where to put the furniture Liam would be encouraged to buy. What she really wanted was to be out with Liam getting the name of the man who had shot her sister. _How long did it take ta get a man ta talk? If he hadnae dragged tha answer outta tha prissy faced officer by now, mebbe he needed har help ta do it._

The inactivity and not knowing what was happening was killing her. During her three years living with Armand, acting as his second in command, she had been privy to all the Frenchman's deals. She was used to being kept informed and being a valued member of his entourage. She had forgotten what it was like to have to wait around in the background until somebody chose to feed her little bits of information.

With no TV or radio and every magazine read from front cover to back, she was getting to ready to remove a few of the interior walls when she heard the faint buzz of Jeannie's mobile phone announcing an incoming call. The older woman had left her phone on the top of her handbag when she went upstairs to measure the space that would eventually become Liam's en-suite bathroom.

Looking at the phone, Fiona turned to shout out to the older woman but then stopped. _Who would be callin' Jeannie? Everybody thought they were away tourin' Europe. It had ta be Liam!_

Accepting the call, Fiona moved swiftly through what would one day be the kitchen and out into the garage. _Thar's no point worryin' Jeannie. If she hears me talkin', she'll want ta tek tha call harself._

Before she could say anything, the voice of Valentine Temple came through the earpiece. _Not who she wa' expectin'._

"Liam?" came a clipped impatient growl.

Fiona took a sharp breath and then answered in her best impression of Jeannie Donahue. "No, I dinnae know whar he is. Kin I give ham a message?" _Since she had been back in Ireland, she had meet Val Temple six or seven times and each time he had barely given her the time of day._

"Tell ham ta call me back. Tell ham tha shite has well an truly hit tha fan. T'anks ta ham, I've gotta goddamn MI5 agent parked up outside me house. It's like a bloody parade every time I go out ta tha pub... Am havin' ta call ya off me feckin' son's girlfriend's phone cos me home line is probably tapped...Ya go tell ham he needs ta get back har an' sort out dis feckin' mess."

She blinked as the man ended the call abruptly without a single nicety. Tapping the edge of the phone lightly against her lips, she thought about what the local shot-caller had said and she began to frown. _Whot wa' her brudder playin' at? He had ta know tha council would be angry wit' ham fer snatchin' a Brit officer so close ta the time o' tha breakin' of tha ceasefire._

Fiona paused, _Temple thought he wa' talking ta Jeannie, but did thot really matter? She really didn't want to disturb the blonde._ She turned her gaze to the door leading into the garage, _Liam had ordered har ta stay wit' Jeannie, but Val Temple, who wa' technically Liam's boss, ordered har to pass on his instructions. _She smiled. Liam would be annoyed, but she could say Val Temple ordered her to find him. She turned and went looking for her coat, before leaving Jeannie a hurriedly scribbled note and slipping out in order to search for her brother.

Fiona was still justifying her actions as she walked along the well lit street. It was a world away from the Falls Road. There were no kids hanging out on the street corners and no voices raised in anger or shrieking with laughter coming from the houses which lined the street. There wasn't even any rubbish blowing along the gutters; not even a single crisp packet.

Liam hadn't told her where he was going to take the British captain, but she could make a few educated guesses. He was going to need somewhere secure, quiet and soundproof where he wasn't going to be disturbed. He was also going to need the help of at least a few men to guard his prisoner when he wasn't pushing him for answers. Outside of the family, she could only think of a handful of men who Liam would trust with a job like this. That would be where she would start.

Fiona reached the main road and, after passing a large church, she spotted a car park on the other side of the road. She had left the Honda Accord in case Jeannie needed to get away, so she was looking to steal another vehicle to take her back to the city. If she couldn't find the men she was looking for, she would have to go searching for the most likely places her brother would use for his interrogation of the officer.

It was as she was crossing the road she recognized the sign for_ K. Mulhay Family Undertakers_ and then, disappearing around the corner of the shop, she thought she spotted a familiar shape.

Giving chase, she ran across the road and rushed around the corner to discover the overgrown grounds of derelict nursing home which backed on to the undertakers property. Moving cautiously, she went in search of the figure she thought she had seen ducking inside.

She hesitated at a set of rotted double doors. Following somebody into a large derelict building was never a good idea. But curiosity was overcoming her common sense. If it was Liam, she not only had a message to pass on, but she also had the urge to see the British officer who had lost control of his men and got her sister killed.

Stepping carefully so as to make no noise, she cautiously entered the property and began her search for the man she had seen.

_**()()**_

Following the rustle and scrape of footsteps which echoed through the old building, Fiona crept along the dark dingy hallways. The sudden the creak and bang of a door being opened and then shut caused her to jump and then quicken her pace. Turning a corner, she found herself in what was once the nursing home kitchen. Edging further into the room, she came to a stop when she caught the soft conversational tones of her brother's voice floating through a heavy steel door.

"_Sorry ta have kept ya waiting, lad. I'm hoping yer feel a bit more cooperative now ya've hadda chance ta t'ink things through... I know ya warn't fer listening ta me yesterday. So befer we get started today, I want ta tell ya a few t'ings. In case ya dinnae recognize me, I'm Liam Glenanne. Now I'm pretty sure ya've heard o' me – especially affer whot ya an yar men did, ya musta been warned about me, an' whot I do." _He laughed grimly. _"Whot I'm suspected o' doin'."_

She pressed her ear to the door, hearing the rattle of chains and the faint moans and choking sobs of a man enduring great pain and Liam talking as if he was discussing the weather with an old acquaintance.

"_Thar wa' a SAS man two years ago. I know fer a fact ya never found all o' ham. Poor bugger drove down tha wrong street, an' ended up spendin' a few days hangin' off a hook jus' like yarself... An' then thar wa' Kian O'Toole – tha informer... ya musta heard about ham. He'd been in hiding fer nigh on ten years, but we got ham in tha end." _

She peered through the keyhole and bit back on a curse when she discovered the view was blocked by the back of a chair. Meanwhile, as Liam continued to talk, she heard the harsh monotonous scrape of metal against metal as she assumed her brother sharpened a blade.

"_Now ya might be wondering why I'm tellin' ya all this, an' I'm getting' ta it... But it's important ya have all tha facts befer I get round ta the reason fer ya hangin' fram tha ceiling in dis dump."_

She felt bile rise in her throat, but forced herself to listen. She had heard all the gruesome details of the capture and death of the SAS soldier who had some how gotten separated from the rest of his team and the death of O'Toole had been turned into a cautionary tale of what happened when you informed to the enemy. What had been left of the SAS sergeant's body had been sent back to their headquarters in Hereford England in a box, while O'Toole's body had been dumped in the center of Armagh. Until now she'd had no idea that Liam had been involved in either of the men's deaths.

"_Sister_..." She heard a faint whisper and a rattle of chains followed by a moan.

"_Aye, lad, me sister... But we'll get ta all thot in a minute... I have a feelin' ya still t'ink yer gonna get outta dis in one piece or mebbe ya plan on bein' a dead hero... So let me finish and then ya can decide whot ya wan' ta do... In all dem intelligence reports about me, did any o' tham mention I wa' trainin' ta be a doctor?...No? Yes? Well, I wa'... But then you lot sent some o' those Paratrooper bastids inta me Mammy's home ta arrest me brudders...Dey came in thar wavin' thar guns in front o' tha babbies, knocked me little brudder ta tha ground an' stood on his back, threatening ta kill ham if he moved so much as an inch, while tha rest o' tham chased me big brudder out inta tha street an' gunned ham down like some sorta animal."_

Fiona remembered that awful day. She remembered cowering in the corner of the laundry room, her body protectively covering Claire's while her mother shrieked bloody murder and struggled against Colin and Sean, who were trying to hold her back from throwing herself at the soldiers, who stood in the doorway pointing their rifles at them. She remembered hearing the shots which killed Pat Junior and the fear that the soldiers would now turn their guns on the rest of them.

"_Now during me time in medical school, I learnt all about tha human body... Trust me when I tell ya I know how ta hurt a man an' keep ham alive fer days in agony."_

She could hear her blood pumping in her head and a rising sickness as all the stories she had heard about Liam came flooding into her brain; she was beginning to wish she was somewhere else, anywhere else. She'd heard the words: evisceration, emasculation, exsanguination, excoriation, contusions, lacerations, desanguination, decapitation, disembowelment... they had been just words from the medical textbooks Liam had studied. But now they were a reality... brutal bloody reality...

"_An' thot's whot's gonna happen ta ya, boy... I'm not gonna lie ta ya... Yer gonna die a horrible death an' nuttin' ya say or do is gonna sway me fram it... But befer ya t'ink about refusing ta answer me questions, I wan' ya to know one more t'ing... If ya don't answer, or ya lie ta me, I'm gonna find every one thot ya love an' kill em all in tha most painful way I know. I have yar name now an' how long d'ya t'ink it will take fer me ta find out whar yer fram and whar yar family lives?"_

There was a high pitched shriek, followed by the strangled sounds of a man in agony and, at the same time, a horrible slithering and something wet and heavy hitting the floor. She paled and stuffed her fist into her mouth to stop any noise escaping. She had a good idea what was happening in that room and her stomach began to heave.

And while all this was happening, her brother continued to talk in the same soft tones_. _

"_Ya dying now, an' nuttin in the world can save ya...All I can offer ya is dis, ya tell me who fired tha shot thot killed me sister an' I'll finish ya off quick... Or ya can die slow an' I go lookin' fer yar family and yar friends and do tha' same t'ing ta tham... An' affer I've done fer yar family, I'll also hunt down every man under yar command an' do tha same ta every single one o' tham... Jus' gimme one name, lad, an' if it's tha right one, it'll all be over, or I'll make it me lives work ta destroy tha lotta ya."_

She had to leave. She couldn't listen to what was happening in that room any longer. Keeping as quiet as she could, she fled back the way she had came only coming to a stop once she was outside in the fresh air.

By the time, she let herself back into the house she had regained all of her composure. She had demanded Liam get her the identity of the man who killed Claire and she would have been a naïve fool to think a British officer would just give up the name of one of his own men without being put under severe duress and in dire circumstances. But just because it was necessary didn't mean she could stand there and listen while Liam worked.

Another shiver ran through her as she navigated the dark streets towards their safe house, thinking again how little she really knew her big brother and trying to reconcile what she had seen with the man she thought she knew.

"War tha hell have ya been?" Jeannie snapped, waving the note Fiona had left at the younger woman as soon as she walked through the door. "_Gone ta find Liam, Temple left ham a message!_" She raised her cigarette and drew in a lungful of nicotine. "I've been worried sick... Ya shoulda shouted me."

"I didnae wan' ta disturb ya... Temple were jus' lookin' fer Liam an' I thought while it wa' dark I'd go see if I could find ham." Fiona ducked her head, as the blonde treated her to a hard penetrating stare.

"Ya didnae wan' ta disturb me?"Jeannie's voice went up an octave. "W'ar supposed ta be in hidin', ya shoulda -" She stopped and ran her gaze over Fiona's pale complexion. "Are ya alright, sweetheart? Ya look a bit peaky."

"I'm fine." Fiona sighed, doing her best to block out the moans and sobs of Liam's victim which still reverberated through her head. She pushed by Jeannie, wanting to get away from the woman before she could start asking more questions.

"Fiona?"

She came to a stop with her head bowed and waited for Jeannie to start her own version of an interrogation, but it seemed the blonde had a new crisis to deal with. "Ya didnae happen ta see a newsagents while yer war' out? I'm nearly outta cigs."

Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Fiona turned and smiled. "Thar's a parade o' shops at tha top o' tha street. It's pretty dark out thar, so if yer quiet about it, ya should be able ta sneak out... Jus' make sure thar's no cameras in tha shop."

"Thank ya, luv. Yer a life saver." Jeannie was already reaching for her purse. Just as she was about to step through the door, she stopped again. "Fi, d'ya happen ta see if thar war a chippy? I could murder a fish 'n chip supper."

Fiona paled and felt her skin flush. _How could she eat anything, knowing wha' Liam was doin' ta thot army boy? __She couldnae have known..__._ "I didnae see one." She gulped and ran upstairs.

Hearing the click of the door as Jeannie scuttled off to buy cigarettes, the young woman went into the only working bathroom and stood over the sink looking at her reflection in the cracked mirror attached the wall in front of her.

She really had to pull herself together. Swallowing thickly, she shuddered as she remembered that her baby sister had gone to her death thinking her big sister hated her... It was her fault that Claire was alone when she died, bleeding to death on the street surrounded by the men who had hurt her. If she had been there... her blood ran cold as she imagined each and every one of the soldiers falling to her wrath.

She turned the taps on and stuck a wash cloth under the cold running water. What Liam was doing in the derelict nursing home was necessary, she told herself firmly, they needed answers. She needed to know who fired the shot because whoever it was _had_ to pay; _that's how it was._

"_An eye fer an eye, a tooth fer a tooth. W'ar gonna make sure them thot hurt us an' ours reap whot they sow me, gorgeous girl... Now befer I have ta go an' help yar Uncle Aiden, I wan' ya ta hand me thot mixin' bowl. Ah wan' ta show ya how ta get tha mix right on tha nitrate and magnesium... Ya got it wr__ong yesterday an' thot's why ya blew yar Granny's wheelbarra inta tha next world. Don' fret, my darlin' child, I know ya'll git it right yet and yar Granny's sacrifice fer tha Cause won' go fer naught."_

She rung the cloth out and wiped her face and neck, freshening her skin, while she let Patrick Glenanne's words of wisdom soothe her troubled mind.

She had been nine years old when the first man in her life died. She'd had nightmares for weeks afterwards about soldiers breaking down doors and taking her away. She had been so traumatized that one night she had awoken and dragged Claire with her into the bathroom and locked the door. They had screamed the place down when Colin had had to break the door down to get them out.

And then one morning she had been called out of class and taken to the Head Mistress's office where she had found her big brother waiting for her. Pat Junior looked terrible, but she had been so happy to see him. He'd been gone for ages.

But as he had driven her home, her life fell apart as he told her their daddy wouldn't be coming home. At that time she hadn't really understood what was going on, but she had seen Liam, cold eyed and serious, working in their Da's basement workshop, mixing the chemicals to make a big bang with their Mammy at his side, adding her own deadly touch to the mix.

_An eye for an eye,_ she blinked. Claire had been left to bleed out on a cold pavement, a bullet decimating her left lung, breaking two ribs and nicking her thoracic aorta. _A tooth for a tooth... W'ar gonna make sure them thot hurt us an' ours reap whot they sow._When Liam supplied her with the information, she would exact payment from the man who killed her sister.

_**()**_

It was nearly midnight when Liam made the short walk to his new home. With his footsteps echoing on the empty pavement, he took his time to enjoy the peace and quiet of the neighborhood. _He should have made this move years ago. If he had done so, Claire wouldn't have gone into Belfast and she would have still been alive. _

He had disapproved when Pat Junior moved the whole family off the farm and on to the Falls Road. He had seen the place as too dangerous for their mother and siblings to live. But he had held his tongue and only after Pat's death did he move their Ma and the younger children away to the safety of the south. This was to be the next step in his long term strategy to make a life for the Glenanne clan once a lasting peace was declared.

He had no doubts that the breaking of the ceasefire was more about wringing some more concessions from the British government than reigniting a full-scale terror campaign. There were quite a few men on the executive council who seemed to be enjoying the extra power and respect that was coming their way from secret meetings with ambassadors and diplomats from the UK and USA. He'd also noticed how many of the shot-callers and high ranking officials were showing an interest in politics and knew deep down none of them were going to risk losing all they had already gained by throwing away the chance of peace.

He pulled the collar of his coat up high around his ears as it began to drizzle. Looking upwards, he noticed thin wispy clouds of smoke blowing over the tops of the houses and, with the smoke, the faint acrid smell of burning wood and molten steel in the air. He hadn't realized the evening breeze had changed direction and was now sending the fumes from a nearby fire towards his new house.

The old derelict nursing home which was positioned off the main road behind Mulhay's funeral home was still ablaze. The fire had started over an hour earlier. Mr. Kieran Mulhay had apparently spotted a gang of youths running off along the street and then he had seen the flames licking up the walls.

When Liam had slid silently away from the funeral home, the fire brigade had appeared to have the conflagration under control and Kieran was busy giving his statement to the policemen investigating the arson.

Liam knew the news of the fire would attract the attention of intelligence services, especially if they had somebody who knew what he was doing running the investigation. He had bought into Mulhay's funeral home under a false name, but they had used the company for Claire's funeral, which would be enough of a connection to cause any suspiciously minded MI5 agent to dig a little deeper.

But it didn't matter. The fire had been set to clear away any evidence they might have missed after their clean up and it was also keeping all the local security services looking one way while one of Mulhay's men took the captain's remains in a mortuary van to a remote reservoir where the officer would be dropped into his watery grave.

Putting his head down as the soft drizzle began to turn into a hard downpour,

Liam picked up his pace on the last few yards to his home. He let himself in through the front door, shaking the rain from his hair and came to a stop when he found himself facing his little sister pointing her snub nose revolver at him.

"Put thot away," he ordered as he took off his coat. "Hang thot up fer us, an' get us a towel, sweetheart." After handing his coat to Fiona, he walked past her on his way into what would one day be his living room. "Can ya ask Jeannie ta bring me supper through. I'm fair famished; it's been a long coupla days."

"Liam!" Fiona put a hand out to stop him. _If he wa' back, it meant he had got tha information she wa' desperate fer._

"We'll talk affer I've hadda bite ta eat. Go hang thot coat up befer ya ruin it." He saw irritation and indignation spark in his little sister's eyes and it warmed his heart on such a cold night. _He'd give har tha answers she wa' affer when he was good an' ready._

_**()**_

Fiona forced herself to sit quietly while Jeannie provided Liam with a quick meal made out of her dwindling supplies of canned goods. She could see he was watching her out of the corner of his eyes and, from the slight smirk on his lips, he was enjoying keeping her waiting. No doubt testing her levels of patience by taking his own sweet time eating his plate filled with spaghetti on toast.

With the evening snack over and a glass of warm whisky in his hand, the head of the family leaned back slightly and waited until Jeannie had left the room with his empty plate.

"Ah've gotta few phone calls ta make in tha mornin' an' then ya'll be on yar way."

"Whar?" Her heart began to beat faster at the thought. _Finally, she wa' gonna have sommit ta do._

"Tha East o' England, a place called Norwich. Yer gonna have ta travel all tha way across tha country... Tha fella yer affer is called Crammer, a feckin' stupid kid on his first tour... They sent ham home 'til they decide whot ta do wit ham. I'll check it out tomorra. If tha Captain told me tha truth, ya'll be on yar way affer dark... If he lied - I'll be makin' tha trip meself."

"How –?" She was full of questions, but he stopped them all by lifting his hand and then yawning.

"I'll have all ya answers in tha mornin', sweetheart... Get away ta bed. It's late an' yer gonna have a busy time o' it fram tomorra."

She went to get up then paused. "I took a call fer ya. Valentine Temple is lookin' fer ya. He wan's ya back in Belfast."

"Whot exactly did he say ter ya?" Liam sat forward, his blue-grey eyes intense.

Closing her eyes, Fiona thought back to the short conversation, taking her time to give her big brother as an accurate answer as she could. She knew they passed coded messages in ordinary sounding sentences to evade the bugs and directional microphones the intelligence services used.

"He said fer me ta tell ya ta call ham back. Thot tha shite has well an truly hit tha fan. He's gotta goddamn MI5 agent parked up outside his house." She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "He said, it's like a bloody parade every time I go out ta tha pub... An' thot he wa' havin' ta call off his feckin' son's girlfriend's phone cos tha home line is tapped...An' thot I wa' ta tell ya he needs ya back in Belfast ta sort it out... Thot's as close as I can remember."

Liam smiled and leaned backed. "Tha army has torn tha house apart an' some people have been spotted sneaking around our Ma's house an' Seamus's."

Fiona sighed. "D'ya think thar all safe?" She knew Liam had sent her brothers and mother out of the country, but the old fears were still there in the back of her mind. It was the same way her hands always itched for the comforting feel of handgun whenever she past through an army checkpoint or saw a patrol on the street.

"I spoke ta them all this morning, Shay's already off makin' friends wit a coupla Libyan arms dealers. Ma is drivin' ham crazy every time he goes back ta tha hotel. Ya know whot she's like o'er flying an' foreign food. Colin is enjoyin' tha delights o' Amsterdam... I t'ink one o' us might have ta go out thar ta drag ham home when this is all over. An' Sean is doin' a good job in London. He's stayin' off tha police radar an he's gotta good team workin' wit ham." He past on all the information he had on the family, knowing how worried she was about them all. "Go get some sleep now. Everybody is safe an', if soldier boy told me tha truth, ya'll be seein' Sean soon enough."

_**()**_

The following morning Fiona woke from her first decent nights sleep since her baby sister's death. Today she would be on her way to the UK and pretty soon she was going to have Claire's killer in her sights and she would watch him die. He would know the pain her baby sister went through and he would be the one to suffer, too.

By the time she got downstairs, she found Liam pacing around the kitchen holding Jeannie's mobile phone up to his ear. She could see by the flush of his skin he was angry about something. She just hoped it wasn't anything to do with her trip across the Irish sea.

Making herself a cup of tea, she waited patiently until Liam ended the call with a curt. "Ah'll see ya soon."

"Trouble?" she asked.

"Nuttin' thot concerns ya," he muttered distractedly. Then he pulled himself together. "I've had some friends check out Crammer. Thar's a Keith Crammer livin' whar tha Captain said an' he's a soldier boy on leave... Thar gonna watch ham 'til ya get thar."

"So, I'm on me way?" Fiona's felt the weight of the last month lift off her shoulders. _Finally!_

"Yeah, on yar way, sweetheart," he agreed. "I'm gonna arrange fer ya ta cross on a fishing boat. It'll drop ya on tha beach next ta a holiday camp... Tha place is closed this time o' year. I've used it meself. Thar's no guards, not even a fence ta climb. Ya'll hole up in one o' tha caravans an' wait fer Sean ta pick ya up."

When he stopped talking, he sighed and looked down at the floor, sucking on his bottom lip. Finally he looked up and she read the uncertainty in his eyes.

"Whot?"

"I'm gonna be locked up while all dis is goin' on. Wit' tha army boy missin', I'm tha main suspect. I'd never make it outta tha country. So, I'm gonna let 'em take me in. It means I'll have an alibi when all hell breaks loose. Thot also means I'm gonna be trustin' ya an' Sean ta run t'ings over tha water in London an' then whar' ever they send ya next. Ya gonna 'ave ta use yar heads. I'm not gonna be thar ta keep ya outta trouble."

She had already worked out that he was going to let himself be taken into custody, but now he'd confirmed it, all her old fears came to life.

"Ya'll come back ta us," she demanded, unable to hide her feelings. It wasn't a question, it was desperate demand for a promise of his return. As much as she and Liam butted heads, he was still her oldest brother and the head of the family. If anything happened to him...

She remembered other times when one or more of her brothers had been arrested, held without charges for crimes that they weren't always guilty of committing. Her Da had died while imprisoned and, every time her brothers came home, they had always been skinny and shown marks of mistreatment. It had been four or five years since Liam had last felt the cold touch of handcuffs and this time he was the obvious suspect in the disappearance of a serving officer in the British army. If the police handed him over to the army... She gulped at the thought of what could be done to him.

"I'll come back, sweetheart. Dinnae worry about it. T'ings are different now. They'll hold me fer a coupla weeks an' when thar's no evidence and tha bombs goin' off on tha mainland, they'll let me go. Or if not, I'll be a bargainin' tool fer tham durin' tha talks."

"I -"

"Thar's nuttin ta fear, sis. Colin an' Seamus an' our Ma have cast iron alibi's. Thar on holiday recovering fram tha loss o' Claire. Sean is wit Colin, at least his passport says he's wit Colin. We dressed one o' his friends ta look like ham.. An' ya off touring Europe wit Jeannie, though Jeannie is gonna come home in a coupla days an' she's gonna tell anyone who comes callin' yer on Armand's yacht takin' a cruise wit ham."

"Armand?" she said flatly. _How dare they involve Armand!_ And then she remembered she hadn't actually told them why she had left the French arms merchant.

"He's givin' ya an alibi... ya should show a bit o' gratitude an' give tha man a break. Ya could do a lot worse than ham."

"Worse than- !" Then she saw his expression and knew he was reminding her of her lucky escape from Thomas O'Neill.

"Don't -" She pointed a rigid finger at him. "Jus' don' stick yar nose inta my relationships. It's over wit' him – wit' both o' tham."

"As ya say," he demurred. "Now make me a cuppa an' we'll go through all tha details."

_**()()**_

As soon as it was dark, Liam drove Fiona out to a small fishing village on the northeast coast. They had spent the day making preparations. Jeannie had packed her a small supply of sandwiches and snacks, while Liam had brought her her favorite sniper rifle, a French Hecate II, a present from Armand on their first anniversary.

"Wrap everyt'ing in plastic, an' make sure ya pack thot sleepin' bag I got fer ya.. Yer gonna freeze otherwise." Liam was back in full protective big brother mode. The two women watched him double check everything they did and then smiled at each other. _This wa' tha brudder she remembered, a bit over protective, sweet, an' havin' ta be in charge o' everyt'ing._

In strong winds, lashing rain and over the tumultuous Irish sea, Fiona left her homeland and made her way over to Scotland. With her face ruddy from the ice cold wind and salt spray off the enormous waves causing her eyes to water, all her troubles fell away and, for the first time in a long time, she felt alive.

Even when the boats Captain informed her she'd have to climb over the side of the wildly bobbing boat and drop onto the small inflatable dinghy which would carry her onto the beach half a mile away, she couldn't stop smiling.

"It's tha only way, Miss Glenanne," The captain had shouted over the sound of crashing waves and howling winds. "It's safe enough; me boy Gregor knows whot he's doin'."

At that moment, all she'd been seeing was the adventure and, without a moments hesitation, she climbed down the slick ladder and dropped into the unstable craft which was being thrown about on the waves.

By the time she was staggering up the beach on her own, she was shivering from the cold, soaked through to the skin and – utterly overjoyed. Struggling up the beach, dragging her bags along in the pitch dark of a stormy night. All she could think about was how this was her chance to show them all she was more than a little sister who needed to be protected.

She had been given the job of claiming retribution and afterwards it was going to be her and Sean together in charge of one of the most important operations ever involving the Glenanne family and she wasn't going to let her family down.

Just like Liam had told her, the holiday camp was deserted. After breaking one pathetic little padlock, she was onto the site and moving cautiously between the rows of large static caravans. There was no guards, not even a dog running loose to protect the holiday homes.

She broke into one of the caravans near the entrance to the camp and quickly changed out of her wet clothes and then checked on her rifle, making sure the weapon had remained dry and undamaged during the crossing. The arrival of the rifle and Armand agreeing to provide her with an alibi proved to her beyond a doubt that Liam had been talking with the Frenchman, probably trying to discover why the happy couple had split up. _Once this wa' all over, she wa' gonna have ta talk ta her big brudder an' try ta get it inta his thick head thot she wa' a big girl an' could deal wit' her own relationship problems._

She spent the night wrapped in a sleeping bag and covered with blankets, laying on a cheap foam mattress. In the morning, she made the most of the food and drink Jeannie had packed for her and tried to wait patiently as the wind continued to howl, making the whole flimsy structure she was hiding in shake.

It was mid-day when she heard the soft murmur of a car engine and the scrunch of tires on the gravel road. After peering cautiously out of one of the windows. she caught sight of an almost familiar face behind the wheel of a silver BMW. Sean was just about to drive past her hiding spot when she threw open the door and raced outside.

"Sean!" she called out and the car immediately came to a stop. Moments later, her brother was in front of her as she critically eyed the blonde fuzzy growth on his chin. "Is that really you, manly man Sean Glenanne? No wonder ya always kept a clean chin. Thot's a pitiful excuse fer a beard!"

"I'll have ya know thar are those thot consider this a fine... cover." He obviously had changed what he'd intended say.

Fiona smirked. Whatever he was hiding, she'd get it out of him soon enough. "It's good ta see ya," she added, smiling up at him warmly.

Until she had seen him climbing out of the car, she hadn't realized how much she had missed him. Since her return home, she had spent more time with Sean than the rest of her family and over the months they had grown close.

"Aye, you too, sis." He returned her grin while wrapping her in a bear hug. "Are ya ready ta go?" He released her and was already moving to the caravan she'd appeared from. "I tell ya, it's no wonder they dinnae have any security up har. Tha road is barely more an' a track."

Sitting in the passenger seat with the heater turned up to it's highest setting, Fiona tucked into one of the cheese and ham sandwiches Mrs. Flanagan had supplied for his long journey north.

"So tha Flanagan's are looking affer ya then?" Fiona commented as she munched her way through her second thick cut sandwich. With her guilt and grief assuaged by the chance of revenge, her appetite had returned with a vengeance all it's own and she was famished.

"Aye." She watched the flush that came to his cheeks and was intrigued again. "Mr. Flanagan, Rafe, knew our daddy. He's a good man. He's an electrician working fer a big building contractor in tha city."

She still had plenty more questions for her brother. But as the road conditions were so treacherous in the bad weather, she decided to leave it there so her sibling could concentrate on his driving. She remembered from the maps Liam had shown her they would stay on these bleak desolate back roads until they got close to the English border.

"I'm gonna stay off tha motorways. Thar's traffic cameras all along 'em an' if anythin' war ta happen, we'd never git away," Sean answered her unasked question as he missed the slip road which would have sent them onto the M6 and into northern England.

"How long is this gonna take?" she sighed as they drove through yet another small village, their speed never going over sixty miles an hour.

"We've gotta at least another seven or eight hours ta go. I gotta coupla fellas keeping an eye on Crammer, so don't ya be worryin' about ham gettin' away fram ya.." His eyes flickered in her direction. "Are ya sure ya want ta do this?"

Fiona raised her eyebrows in indignation.

"I mean, it's been awhile since ya shot anyt'ing other than a piece o' paper, I wouldnae want ya ta chip a nail or sommit."

"Chip a nail?!" She sat upright she punched his arm hard enough to make him wince. "I'm a better shot than ya ever war."

"Once mebbe," he smirked. "But – all tham champagne lunches, an – _Ow!_" He cringed away as she dug a pointed finger into his ribs.

Using the same digit which had just stabbed her brother in the ribs, she now raised it level with his eye. "D'ya wan' me ta show ya how good a shot I am now? Cos ya goin' tha-"

"Ease up thar, sis. I'm jus' sayin' ya it's been awhile since ya-" He stopped talking as the tip of her fingernail moved closer to his eye.

"One...more...word... An' I swear yer gonna lose -"

He laughed and brushed her hand away. For a split second, the two locked eyes and then all the tension fell away. Fiona went from nearly poking her Sean's eyes out to affectionately ruffling his hair.

"Ya fall fer every time, sis," he teased and then deepened his voice, adding a bit of a growl in a passable imitation of their big brother. "_Ya gotta learn some patience_."

In the end, keeping to the speed limits and avoiding any road with traffic cameras meant the three hundred mile journey took ten hours instead of the six hours it should have taken on a direct route.

On the way, Sean filled her in on all he had been doing. He told her how he was working with a London bomb-maker who he joked was nowhere near as good as she was. He grumbled about not being able to visit the local pub or socialize that much as he wasn't supposed to be there. But his whole demeanor changed when he talked about the Flanagans and especially whenever he mentioned their eldest daughter. It was plain for Fiona to see that Miss Rosanna Flanagan had already made quite an impression on her brother.

She was itching to find out more, but Sean had read her expression and quickly set about changing the subject. He reached inside his jacket pocket and brought out a plain brown envelope, holding it out to her.

"Thar's a reservation slip fer tha Premier Inn hotel next ta Norwich Airport an' a coupla o' credit cards in tha name o' Sharon Johnson... Ya've been booked in fer a three night stay. D'ya t'ink ya can still do an English accent? I know it's been a while, but I know ya used ta pass yarself off as a Brit sometimes ta fool tha customs."

"You know about thot?" Fiona blushed. On several occasions, she had used an aristocratic English accent to aid Armand and then more recently Seamus in their weapons deals. It was the Frenchman who had shown her that an upper class accent and an expensive designer dress opened doors with a lot less fuss than an AK47 and threats of bodily harm.

"Aye, Seamus tol' us all about it. Said ya managed ta get both o' ya inta tha VIP tent at a private Polo match. All so he could set up a deal wit' some rich Russian."

She snatched the envelope out of his hand. "_Igor_ was a rich Bulgarian... An' why have ya waited 'til now ta tell me about _this_?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Ya warn't expectin' a do tha hit tonight, war ya? Like I said, I've gotta coupla fellas watchin' Crammer... He does nae own a car, so ya'll nae be leavin' ham a present attached ta tha ignition. Yer gonna have ta keep yar head down 'til tha time is right." He smirked. "Ya can spend yar time paintin' yar nails, or waxin' yar legs -" His word were cut off by the hard punch which landed on his left thigh.

Steering the car with one hand, he rubbed furiously at his dead leg and grinned.

_It wa' good ta have his little sister back ta her ol' self._

_._

_A am do.. Means, _A time for revenge.


	6. Machnamh ó Phríosún

_**Disclaimer: Burn Notice is not ours. But we can dream and play with the characters. We promise to return them mostly unharmed at the end of the day.  
**_

**A/N_: _**We want to send out a **huge thanks** to everybody who is reading and reviewing our story, you all **ROCK. ** And an extra special thanks goes out to our great friends, Amanda Hawthorn and DaisyDay, you girls are the best. Of course not forgetting the awesome girls on Twitter and FB.

**__****VICTIMS OF WAR**

**Machnamh ó Phríosún****.**

_**Miami, July 2012**_

_Sleep deprivation is something every operative learns to deal with. Work long enough and at some point you will find yourself needing to stay alert for long periods of time without the luxury of a proper nights rest. But whether you're a member of a paramilitary terrorist organization or a spy on a deep cover mission, living that lifestyle long term forces you to adapt the needs of your body to your need for vigilance._

_However, for some people, going from wakefulness to a dream state in a matter of seconds is no longer about not getting enough shut eye, it becomes an ingrained part of who you are._

Somehow, staring at the image of an extremely unshaven Michael, a look that he rarely sported, had led to dreaming about the only time Sean had attempted to grow a beard, as sleep came upon her completely without her knowledge or consent. Exhaustion, it seemed, had its own priorities.

"_It's about bloody time!" she had been simultaneously aggravated and exhilarated._

"_I got word our boy is gonna be stood outside tha bus station at one o'clock tomorra... One o' me team heard him an' his mates makin' plans in tha pub las' night."_

"_Tha bus station? At lunch time, it's gonna be crowded fer certain." _

"_Aye, it's probably ta complicated a job fer ya. Ya go get yar hair done and I'll take care o' business."_

"_Try it, an' I'll make sure ya cannae walk straight fer a week. When are ya pickin' me up?"_

"_Meet us on tha main road tomorra at six an' we'll set up."_

_After two days of being left in a hotel without any word, Sean had been lucky that she hadn't punched his lights out when he'd arrived, asking if she gotten her nails just right for the job._

_She'd timed her departures around the staff changes. No one knew how much time she was spending in her room, whenever it wasn't time for meals or housekeeping. She'd been controlled and careful, just as Liam had scolded her into...until she'd belted her brother in "greeting" that is._

_Early the next morning, the city center had been quiet except for a couple of street cleaners. After driving around the bus station and checking out where the exits were, they had worked out the ones their target was most likely going to take._

"_So am I comin' back ta tha Flanagans wit' ya when this is done?"_

_She'd continued to grin as Sean blushed. The flush of his skin was even more telling with the addition of the beard. She really needed to meet this girl who had caught her brother's eye._

_They had found her the perfect perch, high up in a church bell tower. A flag on top of the bus station a half mile away waved gently in the breeze, giving her a clue to wind direction and speed. She knew the time her target was coming into the city center and that he would be with a couple of unemployed friends. Peering through the scope, she focused on the exit to the bus station, searching for one face in the crowd, the face of the animal that had shot her baby sister and left poor Claire to die on the street alone._

_All of a sudden, he was there and, even in her sleep over a decade later, she felt that moment of shock again as she realized that he was nothing but a scrawny kid and, for that brief second, she had hesitated. Then, as she'd watched him through the scope, he had laughed, slapping the back of one of his friends and then saying something that caused the others to break into laughter, too._

_The sonuvabitch who had taken her sister's life had been allowed to get away with it. He'd had his identity protected, so HE could be out having fun and actually joking__ around with his mates__! Fiona could barely contain the rage that burned through her heart and soul in that moment._

_She lined up the shot, centering the cross hairs on his chest. But then she had taken in the crowds. There were two hospitals nearby. With a chest shot, there was a faint chance he would survive; some do-gooder would manage to call for an ambulance. She had looked through the telescopic sight again and checked the wind direction. She would wipe that smile off his face permanently…_

The scene shifted. She was no longer on the top of church tower alone. She was on top of a mall in Miami and her target wasn't a trio of British youths, but a monster who had ruined all their lives.

"_Finger on the housing, not the trigger, Fi," Jesse's calm reminder echoed in her ears._

"_Anson had no problem killing Madeline's boyfriend. Who's to say he'll stop there?"_

"_Look, I wouldn't put anything past the guy, but I don't think he wants to break his new toy just yet. He still has plans for Mike, so can we just focus on keeping your boyfriend safe? Here he comes now," Mr. Porter had announced._

_Yes, the diabolical SOB had plans for Michael… plans she wasn't going to allow to come to fruition. Her finger slipped inside the trigger guard. Time to end this, despite what Jesse had said…But then the nightmare that had plagued her in the Caymans had hit her like a .50 calibre at short range._

And with that thought, she woke up with a start, momentarily disorientated as she found herself not in Norwich, nor in Miami, but back in her cell, lying on her thin uncomfortable mattress, still locked inside that bare stark building on a barren land strip of land surrounded by the Everglades.

_Dammit!_ She had wiped the smile off of one murdering bastard; why couldn't she have been allowed to finish off that grinning devil? For all the hell he had put her family through, Private Keith Crammer had still been a just stupid kid. How much more did Anson Fullerton deserve to die?

She forced away the memories of murderers and instead turned her thoughts to the subject which seemed to take up most of her time, except when she was busy concerning herself with the minor detail of calculating when or how the next attempt on her life would come.

_Where is Michael sleeping tonight?_

_He's in the loft of course, or maybe at Madeline's. He told me it was hard to be there alone, with all my things there, but that it was harder not to be there, not to stay with all those things that reminded him of me. He called it a Catch-22…apparently from some book he liked._

Fiona turned onto her side, gently cradling her healing limb atop the other one that was thrust under her pillow, automatically but vainly reaching for the weapon that always had been there for the last twenty plus years, but was there no more. Instead, her fingers brushed against the picture that Madeline had sent her of them. It was from a trip down Mexico way, where they had scouted safe houses and Michael had grown a beard. The exhausted Irishwoman didn't need to look at it again, though she had frequently looked at it during her free time, such that it was at Allarod.

No, she had every line and curve memorized of his features and physique. It did _help_ to keep her mini-dream states focused on pleasant things instead of enemies past and present….sometimes….

_Is he sleeping at all?_

Since she was going to see Michael again tomorrow, his lover assumed that he would be as restless as she had been all day. The call to the warden's office had filled her with fear, which was quickly replaced by joy that she had new visitor's request from him, only to be exchanged for a terrifying mix of happiness and wariness. He was coming to tell her either very good or very bad news.

The covert operative hadn't been back since the first time she'd seen him, though Fiona _had_ talked to him over the phone recently. Like everything else since her surrender and incarceration, her reaction to the contact was conflicted and paradoxical, the sound of his voice simultaneously exhilarating and painful. That sinking feeling in her gut when he hadn't answered her calls…

_She had been wrong. He had left, he hadn't called, he didn't love her... He had used her and now he was gone...She was no man's damn asset that could be used and then tossed aside!_

_"No, no, no, yer not goin' ta do tha' to yarself, nae anymore," she moaned, flinging an arm over her eyes. "Never again, yer never gonna make a fool o' yarself o'er a man again."_

Ms. Glenanne startled as she realized she momentarily drifted off. She wasn't back in her Mammy's home in Dublin, awakening from her week long drunken rage after McBride had left her with no word at all. She was still in prison, dozing off again. She shifted on the hard cot, wrapping her arms around herself and trying to calm down. Michael _wasn't_ going to abandon her _again_.

_"I'm going to get you out," he'd promised her in a rush. His face was wet with tears, something she never seen in public until recently and she'd been stunned by the depth of emotion on his face. "I promise you that… and we're getting close. The CIA-"_

The CIA was _allegedly_ going to help get her out of here, as soon as the spy found Dr. Fullerton. She wondered briefly if Michael was _now_ regretting not letting her finish off the dirty DIA shrink when she had the shot. That led Fiona to take a moment to contemplate how much damage she'd done to her reputation on the street by offering up Greyson Miller on a platter to the US government.

Ms. Glenanne growled, rolled over and tried to shrug it off. _Why did Michael trust these people, the ones who had betrayed and cut him off like he was nothing? Thar they war again, dancing ta tha tune o' tha bastids who called the shots and played God wit' people's lives wit' no more care than a dog wit' a bone. _Of course, if she didn't get out of here soon, that wouldn't matter. Given enough time, the two lifers who did contract hits to pass their time were going to finish _her_ off.

_Pris__on, or any__ confined institutional environment, is just about the worst place possible to make an enemy. The regular schedule means your enemies know where you are every hour of the day. While crowded living conditions mean they can choose the time and place that is best for an attack. Usually, the best you can do is to stay moving, stay aware and stay paranoid._

Paranoia was her best friend now, her constant companion once more… Fiona clung to the hope that Michael was coming to tell her good news. Those brutal bitches would only be in the hole for month. She was fairly certain that she had no more favors big enough to do for Ayn that would get the cell block tossed again. But if Tom Card was to be believed, _and that was a big IF_, then there were things in the works that would free her before then.

_Well, to be honest with you, at first he wasn't thrilled with proposition, but he realizes that this deal was your ticket home and that's where he wants you—home_

Thinking about the spy's former training officer raised her hackles as it always had. She didn't trust the CIA in general or that man in particular. His claim that he had personally flown half around the world to take Michael from Ireland without so much as a goodbye as an errand of mercy rang false.

But her lover hadn't answered her initial call. As she sat there squirming under the jaundiced eye of Tom Card, her suppressed feelings of abandonment had risen immediately to the surface. Plus, it had reminded her way too much of being chained to a table in front of another grinning weasel that'd assured her he only wanted to help… right before he'd shown her Michael's autopsy report_. _

_Lying pricks, all of them! Ya cannae trust tha lot o' them!_

Worse yet, when Michael finally did answer, he had hesitated. The long silences were like knife twisting in her gut instead of slashing her forearm. It was obvious he was in the middle of some sort of operation she had assured herself. It had to be something necessary to help set her free.

_So quiet… it must be bad…. I wish I was there to back you up. _All she wanted was to be by his side.

_Dammit!_ She was so frustrated with being side lined, being stuck in here, just like she had been when she was sitting in that bolt hole which would become Liam's Holyhead house one day, measuring curtains with Jeannie. Fiona sighed heavily. _It would be a pleasure to be back in Belfast_.

At least there she had some freedom of movement and weapons to defend herself with. Besides Ms. Donahue's cooking was far better than the slop they served in Allarod and although there were people who wanted to murder her on the way to lunch back in Ireland, she had better options for dealing with them than she did here. _Ya knew whot would happen when ya turned yarself in. Ya said ya could take care o' yourself, so why ar' ya crying abou' split milk now?_

Her hand unconsciously drifted toward the bandage on her arm. It was healed up enough that she would take it off when she saw him tomorrow. The scar could go unnoticed if she was careful enough, but she would never get the bandage by him. No sense in distracting him from his quest….

"Let's go, Glenanne," the guard barked as he approached her cell door, snapping her out of her reverie. "Time's a wasting. You got a visitor."

()()()

"You know where Anson is? Are you serious?"

Fiona gripped the phone tighter. She had known it would be good news from the moment she had seen his face. The last time Michael had sat across from her at that table on the other side of the glass, the man could barely contain his emotions. This time, he had been in super spy mode, tightly wound and itching to get on the hunt. But suddenly that look vanished to be replaced by a controlled but sincere smile when she had sat down across from him and picked up the handset.

He spent a few moments just staring at her and then trying to tell her how much he missed her without letting go of his control before Mr. Westen had gotten right to the point. Anson Fullerton was in their sights once again. They had a location on the man who had bulldozed their lives.

"I have a lead of where he's going to be tomorrow night, but we can't get ahead of ourselves. Even if he shows up..." He was already trying to manage expectations, whether his, hers or both, she was not sure. This had to do with that op she had interrupted yesterday; otherwise he would have answered her immediately. _But how had he gotten such a substantial lead in so short a time?_

"How? How did you find him?"

I've been talking to … Rebecca…"

Fiona felt her fury coming out on her face.

"Fi, Fi we have every reason to believe her at this point."

"She tried to have me killed!" Memories of being held face down in the scalding, filthy dish water flooded her brain. She had almost choked Nicole farther than unconsciousness when she'd had her in her grip. But that had been child's play compared to what she had dealt with since.

"Trust me, Anson was manipulating her. If anyone can appreciate what that's like, I can."

Yes, Nicole had been manipulated just like Michael had, but that didn't make the fiery Irishwoman any less any angry about what had happened and all the more frustrated she'd had to resort to giving herself up instead of solving the problem directly with a bullet. "How can you be sure you're not walking into another trap?" she demanded.

"I can't be sure on this one. But I have to do it. If I can put Anson in cuffs and you plead guilty to a few weapons charges, your sentence will be time served. It's your only chance."

_A few weapons charges? Was he serious?_ But his face told her he was completely serious.

"Time's up, Glenanne. Warden wants to see you," the guard declared in a loud voice as the door to the secure visitation room creaked open behind her. _What the hell did the warden want with her and why was she interrupting her visitation? They'd barely had ten minutes together._

"I trust you, Michael. But if you let that weasel slip away again, I'm gonna break out of here just to kick your ass," she let him know in no uncertain terms.

"Fair enough," he responded with that killer smile she hadn't seen a long time. Maybe this was finally the end of this sorry business. Maybe…just maybe….

As she proceeded to the warden's office, she couldn't help but let herself think back to that moment on the roof across from the parking garage when she'd had that weasel in her scope at last. This time, Michael's hand had been at Anson's throat. She could see he was looking at her, waiting.

_This was it!_ A satisfied smile had spread across her face as she had begun to gently squeeze the trigger. Then suddenly his cobalt blues looked up at her with fear…_fear!_...and then he had done the unthinkable….

When the man in the blue uniform beside her threw the door open immediately, she had taken a subconscious step back before moving forward into the room, scanning the two figures seated before the warden's desk.

"Ms. Glenanne, this is Mr. Thomas and Mr. Walsh from the State Department," the heavy-set woman announced as Fiona looked from the dark younger guy to the older white guy with glasses, both in blue suits, unsure which one was which. "Uncuff her, please."

"Actually, I prefer if you didn't."

The third man in the room, who was sitting behind a table to her right, caught her attention when he spoke. Fiona took in his appearance, dark hair, stripped shirt, patterned tie, black suit and the same false friendliness that marked all government types. But there was something more here. She knew him from somewhere and wherever that place was, _they had hated each other there_.

"Arthur Meyers, MI6." He buttoned his jacket as he rose, grinning with a not so subtle hint of menace. "So pleased to meet you..."

_Pleased like a predator that's finally cornered his prey and is looking forward to a tasty snack,_ she decided as she stared at his outstretched hand. Ignoring the gesture, she looked at warden, then back to him.

"What is this?" Fiona demanded. _If MI6 thought they were going to get their hands on her…_

"That is a rather complicated question, isn't it? We've been monitoring your activities for quite some time. Honestly, we were hoping all this would end with a needle of potassium chloride. Seemed rather just in light of your past affiliation with the Irish Republican Army." There was that smarmy smile again. She wanted to wipe it off his face with her fist.

"I left the Army because of their tactics," she declared. Well, it was mostly true. "I never hurt a civilian, then or now." She certainly had never targeted one and had gone against operations that did on more than one occasion. It was why she had agreed to work for the Provo against the RIRA.

Meyers folded his arms over his chest. "Let's not quibble about the past, let's talk about the future."

"Well, I don't see how you'll have a damned thing to say about it."

"Well, then let me help you see it. We've been granted a few hours of your time tomorrow from one to four. You'll be driven to our new consulate and you and I can have a little chat about how you bombed the old one."

"Do you think I'm going to talk to you?" _Was this pompous Brit crazy or did he know something?_

"I don't expect so, no. But the light there is exquisite and you'll look lovely on camera." There was that smile again, the shark smile all government types wore when they thought they had you right where they wanted you.

"If you leak that I'm in British custody, there are people in Ireland who will go after my family." She felt a momentary surge of panic. "You'll be putting innocent people in danger. Their lives will be –"

"Over," he agreed grinning broadly, as if that would be the most wonderful thing in the world. "_Yes_, that _is_ an option. The other option is if you sign a new confession, a full confession and we squash this CIA business." Meyers paused, letting the gravity of her situation sink in before he continued. "Take the night to think it over. Sleep well."

()()()

Back in her cell, Fiona paced around the small space like a wild animal caught in a trap. Her mind was torn in two directions. She had tried without success thus far to come up with some way that she could avoid her appointment with MI6's camera man and just disappear. But the mystery of who had come to inflict this newest problem upon her was distracting. The auburn haired woman shook her head and long locks as if to clear those thoughts away and focus.

Even if escaping the prison were possible, it would gain her very little. Yes, she would miss her appointment at the British consulate, but she would be a fugitive and, in all likelihood, going on the run would destroy whatever the deal was that had just been made with the CIA. There was no way and no time for her to get in touch with Michael.

But it struck her suddenly that she didn't need to actually leave the facility. Meyers had said he had her time from one to four. If she could hide out until that window had passed, it would at least give her a chance. Bureaucrats did things by the book. Hopefully, the two men from the State Department and Allarod's warden would be so bound up their red tape that she would be an official CIA asset by the time the MI6 agent got permission again.

_Yes,_ she smiled to herself. _That could work._ _There was only one person who could help her with this. The only question left was, could she pay the price for the favor?_

()()()

"Ayn, I need something. I need to disappear."

But Anything You Need was not impressed with the request after all. Ayn looked up from her book to where Fiona was leaning against the bars of her cell door in anticipation.

"Wait, you're not kidding..."

The Irish woman shook her head. No, she was _very much_ not kidding.

"Honey, if I had a secret door outta here, don't you think I'd used it by now?

"I'm not talking about actually breaking out. I just need it to look like I did."

"Back up, criminal. I thought you had this whole CIA exit strategy."

"Well, apparently the English government heard about it and there's a British spy who's intent on making my life a living hell," she declared. _When hadn't the English government tried to ruin her life and that of her friends, her family, her countrymen. They'd been a thorn in her side since she was four or five years old._

Ayn laughed. "Well, we all been there."

"You have half the guards on payroll here. Surely one of them can…stash me somewhere?"

"In a word… hell, no.," the black woman drawled. "_But_ I _might_ be able to arrange for you to have a little privacy if you can make it worth my while…_that's a big if."_

She looked around Ayn's cell. The woman was enterprising and successful. Fiona had nothing to offer her _here_. She grabbed a bag of chips from the shelf. "Are you interested in an early release?"

The inmate snatched the bag back. "Don't come in here selling magic beans, girl."

"No beans, just leverage," Fiona explained as she sat down next to her. "I'm a high value prisoner. They're gonna miss me when I'm gone."

"And?" the dark haired convict prompted, waiting for "the criminal" to get to the point.

"And if you hide me, I think it's only fair that you be the one to find me."

"Oh, you're right…" Ayn almost gasped as the possibilities presented themselves. "That kind of cooperation could knock years off my sentence," she said, smiling broadly. "Damn, girl, you diabolical."

Fiona took the crisps back and opened the bag, sealing the deal. "It'll need to go down first thing in the morning, right after breakfast."

"I can work that, but this thing won't hold up long. I give it a day, maybe two…"

_Hopefully, that would be enough_. Holding up a chip, she declared. "With any luck, that's all I'll need…"

It was about time some of her alleged Irish luck went her way she decided as she popped the salty snack into her mouth.

()()()

Even if she hadn't been planning something that could affect lives of her family here in Miami and back in Ireland, Fiona wouldn't have been able to sleep regardless. She did her best to shut out the cries of the other women locked in the cells adjacent to her own, and the bang of the heavy steel doors opening and closing as the guards made their rounds. Her mind was too busy to sleep, trying to determine where she had crossed the path of the MI6 agent who'd come to ruin not only her life, but that of the whole Glenanne clan as well. His hatred was more than that of a British agent's dislike of a dangerous enemy in a guerrilla war. _It had felt very personal_.

She had to have known him back home. Of that much, she was certain. Lying in her cell, staring up at the ceiling, she thought about Michael's handler during his last months in Dublin. _What had his name been?_ Chambers, Richard Chambers. Her lover had been _very unhappy_ to discover she had learned the man's name. It couldn't be Chambers… she'd been left behind in Ireland as he wanted.

_She needed to figure this out and soon_. If the British agent had contacts within the State Department would he also have the power to squash the deal she had made with Card? No, she decided. The former guerrilla knew that if he could do that, he wouldn't have bothered with putting her on television here. He would have dragged her straight back to Britain in chains.

_That face… she'd seen it… it had been very important once…a decade or so ago…._

Fiona sighed. There had been so many faces, so many enemies. And if _her_ face were to be the one plastered over the news…? She shuddered at the thought of what would become of her family. Liam was keeping everybody safe by stopping the spread of gossip. She could never go home, he had made that clear. She was to stay away, no phone calls or letters. Out of sight was out of mind.

But if she was paraded on television, made to stand trial on the mainland or, even worse, taken to Belfast… Seamus and Sean both had families, her mam was in her seventies and Liam couldn't protect them all. She had to figure out who is this was and how to nullify the threat he posed.

It must have had something to do with the bombing campaign she had run with Sean after Private Keith Crammer had been put into the ground, she decided. After the Docklands bombing, the only people investigating the assassination of Mr. Crammer had been the local Norfolk constabulary. The Ministry of Defense had been far too busy dealing with the large hole in the east end of the capital to worry about the death of one discharged soldier.

Their assignment ordered by the Provo executive council had been to remind the good people of the UK and their political representatives what it had felt like in the bad old days before the cease fire. They weren't meant to maim or kill any more, just instill fear. And together they had been very, very good at it. She and Sean were a team so in sync it was like they read each other's minds.

But, despite their success, there still had been accidents a plenty**.** Even Mickey O'Rourke had gotten himself blown up trying to deal with both a faulty timer and a bad hangover_... Could it have been someone that had been hurt as part of the campaign?_ Fiona rolled over again, all attempts to get comfortable in vain. _No, that was impossible. The only ones who knew of the Glenanne's involvement in that bombing campaign were those that had ordered it to be done_.

As she lay trapped in a cell, trapped by the circumstances of her life with Michael here in Miami, it had made it all seem so easy back then, uncomplicated as she looked back on those ten months that she had run through the streets of London and Manchester at night. She had been free then to do what needed to be done. They had done millions of pounds of damage with minimal civilian casualty and she had slipped from England to Egypt to Amsterdam back to the UK without a hitch.

Fiona Glenanne had felt invincible. That was until it was time to return home. She'd barely had a chance to do more than breathe in the fresh Irish air at the port in Derry when she had been pounced on by half of the local constabulary. Roughed up and handcuffed, she had been taken to the police station where she had used her one phone call to Liam and tell him of her situation.

That feeling of being trapped came over her. _Would her luck run out one final time?_ She'd had so many close calls back in Ireland, around the world for Armand, chasing his ghosts with Michael… As she felt the walls closing in on her, she couldn't fight it anymore and slipped into a fitful sleep…

_They were coming at her from two sides, snaking surreptitiously through the line, coming closer…._

_She grabbed the black woman's arm before she could make her move. A quick punch to the jaw and a smash to the forearm sent her and the switchblade skittering away. The Latina woman moved in to take her place, the knife whistling through the air as she dodged the wide, arcing swings… but she made the mistake of using her forearm as a block, forgetting momentarily in the heat of battle that it was bare… no leather jacket to deflect or soften the blow like she's had in the Derry police station years ago. _

_The black haired woman snarled and delivered a swift blow to the jaw, not unlike her own a moment ago, and then administered the Belfast kiss that Fiona had given to so many other people over the years. The Irish woman fell to her knees, cursing internally, and then to the floor as she tried to gather her wits about her to fend off the next wave of the attacks… she was so damned tired from her work-out, from living on the edge twenty four-seven, from the constant viligence…. They were rising up and gathering their knives…._

"_What's going on down there… keep the line moving l"_

"_Whot's goin' on har? Keep tha line movin'!"_

_She was lying on the floor in the Derry police station, curled up in a ball trying to protect her core and her head, as two handcuffed loyalists kicked the crap out of her while their guards stood by snickering. Her thick leather coat, heavy jeans and large boots absorbed some of the blows._

_What the hell was Liam playing at? He promised he would have his Provo lawyer here with her before the army boys turned up to take her away._

_She was lying on Michael's bed, back at the loft, bruised, bloody and stinking of all the spilt liquor that had come from breaking bottles and making Molotov cocktails on the fly. That had been truly ugly. She and Sam had barely gotten out of that bar alive. The job had gone so completely sideways. What the hell had happened? She and Sam had done dozens of jobs without Jesse or Michael around to help. Why had that one gone so bad?_

_Someone was at the door…it couldn't be Sam… she'd seen him to bed…. Michael was gone… gone away…and he wasn't coming back… the CIA had their claws in him again…. The door was opening…._

"Breakfast, Glenanne," her jailer ordered, as Fiona sat bolt upright in the bed, fully awake and ready to attack. They eyed each other balefully for a moment, before she shook off the dream and rose to her feet. Soon, she will be safe. At least for a few hours, if Ayn could pull it off. Somewhere safe where the guards won't find her until it's too late for her appointment at the British consulate.

()()()

_When you're on the run, the first few hours are when you're most likely to get caught. Most fugitives are caught quickly because they are trying so hard to get away that they leave a trail a mile wide. The best plan is usually to hide well and stay out of sight._

"You're about to see why I got myself on library detail. I had my guard on cell block kill their AC unit. Nobody's going to miss this... C'mon, we gotta make room for your bony ass."

They cleared out the smokes, candy and all the other contraband Ayn had hidden away and then, kneeling down side by side, they had set about making the hole large enough for her to climb into the wall space.

"Hey, you get claustrophobic, bite your knuckle and keep it to yourself. If you get busted before I can play the hero, I'll be outta business for nothing," the dark woman had admonished.

_Claustrophobic?_ _That was a laugh! Ayn would have shite if she'd seen some of places she'd had to squeeze into in her lifetime. _She had too much too lose to worry about having to hide in a tightly enclosed space. Shuffling back and forth, she sought out the most comfortable position she could and prepared for a long wait. It was 11 am now and Meyers wasn't due to pick her up until one. Tipping her head back, she stared upwards.

"_Sweetheart, I need ya ta climb inta thot drain pipe. D'ya t'ink ya can do it fer me?"_

Her father's voice drifted into her mind, his comforting presence wrapping round her like a protective cloak._ She was eight years old, walking past a building site holding her daddy's hand. They had been visiting her Auntie Claire and were now making the long walk home. She had looked up at him, and then to the four men walking up behind them._

"_Daddy?" She was eight years old, a big girl, and unlike baby Claire __she__ could spot trouble when she saw it._

"_Ack, it's nuttin ta worry about me darlin' girl." His work roughened hand had cupped her cheek. "Now hurry up and crawl in thar. It's time ta be brave little angel. Stay thar til I come get ya."_

And she had stayed in that drainage pipe, despite what she'd seen and how the terror had filled her. Thoughts of her father turned to thoughts of trying to explain that part of her youth to Michael.

"_One thing ya will learn abou' me, Michael McBride. I don' worry, not since I wa' a little girl. When I wa' younger me father wanted to protect his family and their beliefs, no matter whot. I watched him get beaten and shot at, but if he wa' afraid, he never showed it. He always said thar wa' a difference between living and living free. O' course, living wit' honor, it only put us in more danger. Me father came up with a plan to warn us if he knew trouble was brewing. He would say time ta be brave, little angel."_

"_Be brave, little angel?" her lover had echoed._

"_I suppose it wa' a code o' sorts. Whot it really meant wa' get down on the floor, close yar eyes and start praying til it's over."_

The bark of a dog and the scuffling sounds of footsteps shook her out of her reverie and alerted her to the presence of the guards and she froze in place.

_Of course it doesn't matter how well you're hidden if they have a canine unit that can smell you as well as see you. In that case your best option is usually a decoy. Give the dog something to find and hope their handlers don't look too close._

"Got something in the library…."

_Dogs, bloody dogs... Another scene flashed through her head. She was thirteen years old, standing with her brothers as an explosive sniffer dog roamed through their home. Mammy had put something out to throw them off the scent of what was hidden in the basement._

As quietly as possible, she picked up a packet of cigarettes and fed them out through a vent, hoping that that was enough to put them off the scent.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. It must have been the tobacco that set him off."

She silently breathed a sigh of relief.

"And as exciting as it is to discover a hidden pack of ronnies, I think it's safe to say that Ms. Glenanne has escaped from your facility."

_That disembodied voice, muffled and hollow, suddenly reminded her of other voice _"_Sister_..."

_She remembered that faint whisper and a rattle of chains followed by a moan.__ Her blood suddenly ran cold..._

"Go back to your hotel you'll be notified the moment she turns up," the warden had clearly had enough of her visitor's whining and arrogance. _But Fiona wasn't hiding in a wall anymore, she was hiding behind a door in a derelict nursing home years ago, listening to that exact same voice in agony._

"When she turns up, it will be in Ireland or Morocco. My arrangement with the State Department was for today. This trip has been a waste! Goodbye, warden. You'll be hearing from my embassy."

_Oh, Jayzuz... He couldn't be..._ _But now his face, one in the same with the one in that grainy picture that Colin had pulled off a CCTV camera…the one from the newspaper headlines… the one she had stared at, standing beside Liam before they had gone to corner Mary Anne McIntyre…_

It all blossomed in her brain all at once and she jammed her knuckles into her mouth, just as Ayn had advised, to keep from gasping aloud when she realized who had been after her and her family.

_As a spy your job is to avoid detection. But there are times that you are sure to be discovered and all that's left is how and when. But that's not nothing. Sometimes how and when give your friends an awful lot of leverage._

By the time the guards had finally found her, Fiona had managed to stop the shakiness and the panic that had threatened to choke her when she'd realized who Arthur Meyers was and why he'd had hated her so much. When those two large hands were reaching in the hole in the drywall and dragging her back through it, Ms. Glenanne was feeling down right smug about having evaded the MI6 agent and thwarting his plans to harm her or her family.

"I bet you think you're awfully clever. But your British friend is just going fly back and make another appointment." The warden clearly thought she was in charge of the situation now.

"Well, he'd better hurry," she advised the older woman. "Ayn's not the only one expecting an early release."

Fiona couldn't help the smirk that spread across her face at the warden's answering frown as the one in charge of Allarod Federal Penitentiary realized she had been played by a couple of convicts and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

"Put them both in solitary!"

()()()

Sitting alone on the cot, her back pressed to the thick concrete wall that made up her cell in solitary confinement, Fiona hoped and prayed that no one came to kill her before they came to release her, that everything was going right with Michael's operation and that Michael finally had come to his senses and shot Anson Fullerton, because she is certain that this wouldn't end until the bastard is six feet under the ground.

_And maybe not even then…_If the reach of _her _past was any indicator, then the slimy snake who had plotted to ruin Michael's life for decades would be just as tenacious as the Englishman who had held onto to his lust for revenge these past sixteen years.

The more she thought about him, the more convicted she was that Arthur Meyers was a relative to the man Liam tortured and killed for her, so that she could take the family revenge. They could have been twin brothers if not for the age difference.

"_Thar she is," Jeanie had called out as she had all but collapsed into her brother's arms when she'd stepped foot into his Holyhead home almost a year later. She had been so relieved to see him alive and mostly undamaged. Prison had not been kind to either of them, though she spent a fraction of the time Liam had behind bars. _

"_Ya did well," the head of the family had praised her as he'd released her from the intense bear hug and kissed her on the top of her head._

"_Is it over now?" she had asked. "Is the family safe?" She could see Liam nod his thanks to the attorney who had picked her up in Derry and delivered her in mostly one piece back to her family._

"_Aye, Mammy and Shay and wee ones'll be back next week." She had already met up with "Sean," the man who had pretended to be her brother whilst in Amsterdam with Colin. They had traveled together to Scotland, where she had gone on by boat and Colin and company by plane back home. Sean had stayed on with the Flanagans for the rest of the summer. "We've nothing more ta fear on tha account of tha captain or tha soldier boy…Ya done right by our angel. Ya've done us proud."_

Thinking about it now, she would have to break Liam's rules and make a call to warn them. Because now Meyers had failed to get to her, she feared he may go after them in a desperate last bid to finally have his revenge.

Fiona sighed and settled back. There was nothing left to do but wait for Michael to finish this business with Anson Fullerton, just as surely as she had finished off the man who had taken her sister from her. Revenge, despite what Mr. Westen had told her, was not a waste of time. That is what you did for family when it was demanded of you, despite the consequences to your life and to your soul. Fiona wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes. She had killed to avenge her sister. She had killed to defend her homeland. She would have killed to save her family here in Miami. She had gone to prison to protect her one true love and she would do it all again for them.

Once they came to release her from this prison, things would finally be over and there was nothing she was looking forward to more than wrapping her arms around the man she loved and coming home to some peace and privacy.

Fiona Glenanne couldn't wait for it to be over and it to be just the two of them again.

()()()

Machnamh ó Phríosún means Reflections from prison.


	7. Fáilte go dtí Éire

**_Disclaimer_: **_**Unfortunately we do not own Burn Notice; we're just borrowing these wonderful characters.**_

**VICTIMS of WAR**

**A/N:**We want to send out a massive thanks to everybody who is reading and reviewing our first jointly written story, you all **ROCK. ** And an extra special thanks goes out to our wonderful friends, Amanda Hawthorn and DaisyDay, you girls are the best. Of course not forgetting the awesome girls on Twitter and FB.

**Fáilte go dtí Éire**

Somewhere, October 2013

Looking back, Arthur Meyers, realized going out to Allarod prison had been a tactical error. He should never have given her a warning of what was to come and he definitely shouldn't have relied on the Americans to keep track of one little female prisoner. He ground his teeth in frustration as he thought back to that very first meeting with the woman he had grown to loathe.

"_Ms. Glenanne, this is Mr. Thomas and Mr. Walsh from the State Department. Uncuff her, please."_

The stupid woman had actually wanted to free the prisoner of her restraints?! It was something he could never understand; why was it that nobody else saw her for what she was? Glenanne was a terrorist, a cold blooded murderer. If she had been a member of Al Qaeda, would that poor excuse for a prison warden have been so quick to suggest they let her roam about the office unrestrained?

"_Actually, I prefer if you didn't."_

He had been sitting opposite the warden's desk, chatting amiably with the two men from the State Department, doing his very best to hide his growing excitement when _she_ had entered the room. As soon as he saw her standing before him, he had been unable help himself. He'd been filled with an overwhelming desire to get closer. He'd _had_ to look into her eyes. He'd thought at the time he was hiding his utter disdain, but obviously not. Just like some sort of feral animal, she'd picked up on his enmity.

"_Arthur Meyers, MI-6... Soo pleased to meet you..." _

He had only ever seen her at a distance. Prior to this opportunity, the closest he had gotten to her had been through the telescopic scope on a sniper rifle in the Grand Caymans. She was smaller in person, tiny in fact, bone thin and on edge.

"_What is this?" she'd demanded._

It had almost made his mouth water, the fear in her eyes... Quite intoxicating at the time.

"_That is a rather complicated question, isn't it? We've been monitoring your activities for quite some time. Honestly, we were hoping all this would end with a needle of potassium chloride. Seemed rather just in light of your past affiliation with the Irish Republican Army."_

"_I left the Army because of their tactics," she'd declared with a hint of false bravado. "I never hurt a civilian, then or now." _

He remembered thinking at the time: No, you stupid bitch, I don't suppose for one second you thought about the innocent civilian families of your victims. Or where those guns you sell go to. I looked up your record, I know what your and Andreani's guns did in Bosnia and other places round the world: Libya, North Africa, South America.

However, what he had said, after folding his arms over his chest to ensure he didn't reach out to strangle her was: _"Let's not quibble about the past, let's talk about the future."_

_The future_… it was all rather ironic now, considering his present situation.

"_Well, I don't see how you'll have a damned thing to say about it."_

He had been foolish enough at the time to think he was going to get the chance to knock that cockiness out of her.

"_Well, then let me help you see it. We've been granted a few hours of your time tomorrow from one to four. You'll be driven to our new consulate and you and I can have a little chat about how you bombed the old one."_

"_Do you think I'm going to talk to you?"_

"_I don't expect so, no. But the light there is exquisite and you'll look lovely on camera."_

For a moment, he played with the image of the news of her present position, as a CIA asset who was assisting MI-6, appearing on every television screen in her home country and of her brothers having to spend the rest of their very short lives dodging car bombs and assassins bullets as a result.

"_If you leak that I'm in British custody, there are people in Ireland who will go after my family...You'll be putting innocent people in danger. Their lives will be –"_

"_Over, yes, that is an option. The other option is if you sign a new confession, a full confession and we squash this CIA business."_

Innocent! She'd actually had the nerve to call them innocent!

At the time, he had seen it as a win win situation for him regardless of her choice... If she had refused to confess, she would have been the author of her own family's destruction. Photographs of her walking arm in arm with a MI-6 agent would have been flashed up on the RTE and Sky news stations, letting everybody know the rumors of her relationship with an American spy were all true and hinting at a new relationship with the British.

And if she had chosen to confess her guilt... He had already made arrangements to leak some rather damning official DIA documents which had fallen into his hands. Either way, her brothers would be killed by their own compatriots and their mother would have died of shame.

His whole strategy had seemed rather delicious.

"_Take the night to think it over. Sleep well."_

And that had been his biggest mistake. He had not expected her to be able to run.

He blinked away a tear of frustration, shifting his position in the dark so he could wipe away the moisture. Yes, going to the prison had been a major error in judgement.

But his search for justice had been going on for _so_ long and he still had no more idea what had happened to his brother than he had sixteen years earlier. Over that time, he had privately become the foremost expert on the chief suspects in his brother's disappearance, yet his superiors in MI-6 insisted he stay away from any assignment involving them. The thought of actually being in the same room as a Glenanne, even if it was only the girl, had been too big an opportunity to miss.

He had wanted to make sure he got a stab at her, so to speak, before he was removed from the case. Because he knew this time would be no different to any of the other chances that had passed him by. If he didn't act quickly, some politician would come up with some reason why now wasn't the right time to bring up old hatreds.

"_You're becoming obsessive, Meyers. It will get you thrown out on your ear... Let it go."_

His handler had warned him when he'd wanted to fly out to Miami a few years ago. Thomas O'Neill had been arrested by the FBI. If anybody would be willing to talk about the Glenannes, it would have been the former Real IRA operative. But he'd been blocked from making the trip.

"_It's for your own good, Arthur. What happened to your brother... It was a nasty business. But there are important things in the pipeline. Don't rock the boat, old man."_

But it wasn't in him to let it go. When he had gotten an anonymous call informing him that the bombing of the British consulate had been the work of Fiona Glenanne he had pulled in every single favor he was owed. He'd been foiled in his attempt to question O'Neill, and he had been determined to make sure it didn't happen again. He'd had the extradition papers filed before he had left Washington DC.

To be that close to one of them, to be close enough to touch, to get the chance to put the fear of God into one of them... He'd wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Of course, his elation had soon turned to despair when he had turned up at the prison the following day. He had spent several hours that morning arranging a little side trip for Ms. Glenanne, a chance for them to have some alone time so they could get to know each other a bit better. He'd planned to tell her all about his brother George and afterwards he would have made damned sure she told him which of her brothers murdered him. But she had escaped, just like that: gone in a puff of smoke.

Just like his brother or rather that was what General Hersham had said. "George was last seen on the 24th of January walking along Howard Street and then… I'm sorry Mr. and Mrs. Meyers, by all accounts, he just disappeared, gone as if in a puff of smoke."

But nobody just disappeared. There was always a trail if you looked hard enough. Somebody had to know what had happened. But, in his brother's case, apparently not.

"_I am dreadfully sorry. We are all terribly sorry. But really there is nothing more that can be done. We've left no stone unturned in our search for your son. We've questioned every member of the Provisional IRA in Belfast, including those in command. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but the Minister even authorized sending an SAS unit into Southern Ireland to extract members of the __Glenanne family. We have the head of the family, Liam Glenanne, in custody, but he isn't talking. Nobody is talking. There is no other way of saying this, but without a ransom demand, or a body, and with no actual evidence of foul play, there is nothing more that can be done. I assure you, we won't stop searching for your son. It's just at the moment, until we have further leads..."_

A short bitter laugh worked its way up his throat, only to turn into a choking cough, as the calf muscles in his legs began to cramp.

It hadn't taken long for him to learn what the General said was not exactly what he meant. Over the early years of his search for justice, he got very good at recognizing a brush off when one came his way.

"_We're making inquiries, but you have to be patient. Rome wasn't built in a day old man... Chin up."_

"_Northern Ireland is politically a hot potato right now. The peace process is at a delicate phase. We can't afford to cause ripples."_

"_What the hell were you doing taking surveillance shots of the Glenannes? You do know you could have wrecked a high level operation?"_

"_Who Michael McBride is and what he is doing with the Glenanne girl is none of your concern. I don't care if they're planning on robbing every bank in Belfast. Stay away from him or you will be put up on charges."_

"_I am sure we'll have some new information soon. Your brother's name is being brought up in the next round of talks."_

"_Her Majesty has been invited to Dublin. Threats have already been made. It's going to be a security nightmare. We do not need things made any worse."_

The occasional rocking of his present accommodation changed to the odd bounce and an increased swaying motion and he felt a cold sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He had seen Fiona Glenanne as the weak link, but over the following months, he had learnt the hard way she was anything but soft. Three days after the total balls up at Allarod, he had received a call to report back to the Embassy in Washington DC. They had wanted to send him home in disgrace. Some Operations Chief in the CIA had complained to his opposite number in MI-6 that one of their spies was running a covert operation against a valuable CIA asset.

He had resigned there and then. All the years he had given his country and they were going to chastise him over a psychopathic Irish woman, who quite frankly deserved everything she got. In the end though, he had been talked into taking medical leave. He had accepted his behavior was becoming erratic and that he needed some rest.

It was so unfair. _She_ was the criminal. Her family killed his brother and left him and his parents stuck in purgatory. Yet she was the one who was being protected. He felt his rage building just thinking about all the times the investigation had been blocked. They had all taken the sides against him.

When he had heard she was once again in custody, this time facing even graver charges, he had been certain justice would finally be served. He would get to see the girl die and then he could move on. Her family in Ireland would be weakened by grief; they would be under attack from their own side, easy pickings as far as he was concerned.

But it wasn't to be. The Americans let her go free once again, this time rewarding her with citizenship and the protection normally reserved for their own agents. It was the final straw. Sixteen years of getting nowhere, of watching the chief suspects prosper, of having to keep his peace as politicians held meetings and struck secret deals. It all led to this...

All movement stopped and he heard doors being opened and slammed shut. Fear crept under his skin, filling his body, paralyzing his brain. He stared upward with eyes opened wide as the boot of the car he was traveling in opened. The air was cold and fresh, the sky dark and star-filled and two tall figures loomed over him. Then came a voice he had only heard on tape recordings from interrogation sessions in Long Kesh gaol…

"Fáilte go dtí Éire, Mr. Meyers. I hear ya be a wantin' ta have a word wit' me."

**()()()()**

Miami October 2013

Fiona Glenanne sat at the dining table in the corner of her open living room, her fingers softly drumming an impatient beat while her eyes remained fixed on the cell phone laying before her, its illuminated display informing her it was 01.00. _Why hadn't they called? He promised to call when it was over._

She could feel her heart beating within her chest and a sick feeling was building in the pit of her stomach, she couldn't remember a time when she had felt so guilty. _Had the years in Miami really changed her so much... Arthur Meyers had wanted to kill her and destroy her whole family. He was her enemy. He deserved to die... So why was she feeling guilty?_

After her release from Allarod, she had been assured by Tom Card that Arthur Meyers would never bother her again. Unfortunately, that hadn't been the end of the matter. The British spy was relentless in his pursuit of her.

When everything had fallen apart and they had all faced the prospect of spending their remaining days alone locked up in a small windowless cell, there had been a second attempt to extradite her back to Britain. Luckily for her, the deal Michael made had given her not only her freedom but US citizenship.

Then, when a snipers bullet hit the wall behind her head while she dined out with Madeline, she had thought at first it was one of Greyson Miller's mercenaries looking to claim the bounty the arms dealer had put on her head. But she soon discovered that it was somebody far more dangerous.

There was two more attempts to kill her. The first came when she drove out of a mall parking garage and discovered all the brakes lines on her car had been cut. This was followed a month later by finding a package containing a pound of C-4 wired to her front door.

Discovering that Meyers knew where she lived had been the final straw. She couldn't wait for Sam and Jesse to find where the man was hiding and get him arrested. She knew what the burning need for vengeance did to a person and she couldn't let it continue. It was obvious he was never going to give up.

She jumped as all of a sudden her phone began to hum and vibrate across the the table top. Snatching it up, she barely got the device to her ear where she heard a familar voice.

"Tis me. It's done. Ya won't be bothered agi'n."

She sucked in a breath. She was safe, her family was safe. "Liam." Her brother's name came out in a heartwrenching sigh. It was good to hear his voice. "I - -" She couldn't find the words, she had been in exile for so long. Hearing him speak was overwhelming her senses.

"Aye, sweetheart, tis good ta hear fram you too..." For a moment, there was only the sound of breathing and then he spoke again. "Mammy asks thot ya call when ya have news. An' I'm workin' on sommit ta make it safe fer ya ta come home fer a visit."

She felt tears welling up in her eyes. It had taken the threats of a hate-filled British secret agent to bring her family back together. "How? It's too dangerous, I won't have ya riskin' -"

"No risks. Things are changing o'er har... Ya'll see fer yerself when ya come o'er... I have ta go. I left Sean ta take our ol' friend out ta visit wit' his brudder."

She bit down on her lower lip. Arthur Meyers was going to the same watery grave as the infantry captain had gone to sixteen years earlier. Coughing to clear her throat, Fiona opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She was unsure how much she wanted to know about what had happened to the spy. But it seemed that Sean wasn't the only one of her brothers who could read her mind.

"I jus' wan' ya ta know thot ol' dog ya were worried about, he dinnae suffer. They put ham down quick... I gotta go now, Fi."

She stared at her cell as her big brother ended the call without saying goodbye. Meyers was dead and Liam was working on a way for her to return home and ... The creak of the stairs alerted her to another presence.

"What are ya doin' up? I came down here so's not to disturb you." She looked up at the man standing half way down the wooden staircase.

"You know I can't sleep if you're not there," Michael Westen answered as he came the rest of the way down into the living room. He stopped next to her and reached out, his hand wrapping around her wrist, gently tugging her to her feet. "Come to bed... You need your rest."

She stared up at him, her eyes tracing all the new lines and scars he had picked up in the last year. He was still suffering from post mission stress, barely sleeping for more than an hour at a time and he was a nightmare out shopping, though so far she had managed to contain his hyperawareness and no innocent shoppers had been pinned against walls or shot.

"Fi?" He cocked his head to the side waiting for her to tell him what was wrong as he wrapped his arms around her body.

"I got a man killed tonight," she spoke softly. Saying the words out loud made it feel even worse. "He tried to kill me… more than once."

He kissed her cheek. "You did the right thing."

"I did what I had to do," she agreed with a slight hint of irony in her voice. "I just want it to end now. I don't want any more of my family to be a victim of that war."

As she turned in his arms, his hand strayed down to splay out over the soft swell of a growing belly. "It's over now… for all of us," he agreed, trying to convince himself as much as her, smiling that toothy grin even though his heart wasn't totally in it. He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Let's go to bed," he urged.

It was over now, even if _they_ weren't quite over it yet. But one day very soon, they all would be.

**A/N: Fáilte go dtí Éire means Welcome to Ireland**

Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed and favorited this story. Our next offering is based on our desire to see some happiness for our favorite couple in the midst of all this S7 angst.

**Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies** is a series of shipper wish fulfilment AU's for each one of the season finales/season premieres based on Jeffrey Donovan's comment that the audience wants Michael and Fiona to marry and have violent babies and that Matt Nix could completely rewrite the series finale to be puppies, kittens and gun toting babies. In other words, the endings we always wanted to see for our favorite couple!

See ya next Monday!


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